







Class _ 2 ? 

Book , C) % p 

Copyright N° Yfc 

COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 
































































* 




































LEAPED OUT INTO THE DARKNESS.” 

( See page 6 4.) 



THE 

YOUNG TRAIN 
MASTER 


By BURTON E. STEVENSON 

Author of “ The Young Section-Hand,” “ The 
Young Train Dispatcher,” “The Quest 
for the Rose of Sharon,” etc. 


ILLUSTRATED BY 

HENRY GOSS 


^ Y 4 



Boston * L. C. PAGE 
COMPANY * Mdccccix 



Copyright , iqoq 
By L. C. Page & Company 

(incokporated) 


All rights reserved 


First Impression, August, 1909 



Electrolysed and Printed by 
THE COLONIAL PRESS 
C.H. Simonds &* Co., Boston,U.S.A. 


<6 

TO 

QL "Kctftp ;Ptag;tato” 


WHOM I KNEW 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTBR PAGE 


I. 

Old Friends . 



i 

II. 

New Duties . 



16 

III. 

The Miracle at Greenfield 



3 i 

IV. 

Aftermath 



40 

V. 

The New Time-card 



48 

VI. 

The Little Cloud . 



62 

VII. 

A Threat from Mr. Nixon 



7 i 

VIII. 

Mr. Round’s Decision 



81 

IX. 

A Bubble Bursts . 



9 1 

X. 

In the Switch Tower 



IOI 

XI. 

Allan’s Eyes Are Opened 



114 

XII. 

The Interview with Nixon 



122 

XIII. 

Mr. Schofield’s Bombshell 



134 

XIV. 

Declaration of War 



145 

XV. 

In Charge at Wadsworth 



160 

XVI. 

The Strike Begins 



174 

XVII. 

Events of the Night 



188 

XVIII. 

The Derelict 



200 

XIX. 

The Old Stone House . 



212 

XX. 

The Awakening 



226 

XXI. 

“C. Q. D.” . 



242 

XXII. 

The Mystery Solved 



253 

XXIII. 

Complications . 



262 

XXIV. 

Allan Finds His Mate . 



276 


vii 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

XXV. The Downfall of Bassett 

XXVI. Nemesis 
XXVII. The Bomb . 

XXVIII. Hummel Keeps His Word 
XXIX. The Young Train Master 


LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 


PAGE 

“ Leaped out into the darkness ” (See page 

64) Frontispiece 

“ The next instant it flashed into view 

AROUND THE CURVE ” . . *39 

Time-chart ...... 6o 

“ Controlling it, as it were, by a movement 

OF A FINGER, STOOD JlM ”... I04 

“ He explained the difficulty to the engi- 
neer ” . . . . . . .19 7 

“ Then, with a hoarse yell of rage, hurled 

HIMSELF UPON THEM ” . . . . 249 

“He heard the bullets sing past his head” 319 






THE 

YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


CHAPTER I 

OLD FRIENDS 

Nestling among the hills of the Scioto valley, 
in the south-central portion of the state of Ohio, 
lies the little town of Wadsworth. Venerable in 
its age, proud of its history, the first capital of its 
state and the home of men famous in their time, 
it lives in the past rather than in the present, and 
life there moves in a quiet and dignified manner, 
conducive to peace but not to progress. 

Its streets, shaded by the elms planted by the 
pioneers, show traces of those early days; one of 
the old inns, with its swinging sign still stands; 
no roar of traffic disturbs its Sabbath stillness. 
Just to the east of it rises Mount Logan, named 
for the Indian chieftain known to every school- 
boy, and there is a legend that, standing on the 
summit of that hill, the day before his death, he 
1 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 

cast a spell over the surrounding country, in order 
that the peace of his grave might never be dis- 
turbed. However that may be, certain it is that 
a dreamy influence pervades the atmosphere and 
gives to the town an air of leisure and calm delib- 
erateness which nothing can dispel. 

It had been founded more than a century before, 
when the country for a hundred miles around was 
an unbroken forest, by a little band of pioneers 
who, acquiring title to unnumbered acres by virtue 
of their service in the Revolution, pushed their 
way over the mountains from Virginia. Some of 
them brought their slaves with them, only to free 
them when they reached their new home. Other 
families from Virginia joined the little settlement 
and lent their hands to the battle with the wilder- 
ness. That southern flavour had never been lost, 
nor the southern deliberateness and dislike of inno- 
vation, nor the southern preference for agriculture 
rather than for manufacture. 

By mere chance of geographical position, Wads- 
worth lies half way between Parkersburg, a hun- 
dred miles away to the east, and Cincinnati, a hun- 
dred miles away to the south-west; so, when the 
great P. & O. railway, looking for new fields to 
conquer, purchased the local line which connected 
those two cities, and which was fast degenerating 
into a “ streak of rust/’ it saw that Wadsworth 
must be the centre of the new division, since it was 
the most economical place from which to handle 
2 


OLD FRIENDS 


the business of the division and at which to main- 
tain the division shops. All this, however, it care- 
fully concealed from public view, but, expressing 
a supreme indifference as to whether the shops 
were placed at Wadsworth or somewhere else, 
offered to bring them there for a bonus of a hun- 
dred thousand dollars. After long delay and hesi- 
tation, the town was bonded for that amount, and 
the shops were formally established at the spot 
where they must, of necessity, have been placed. 

Here also were the division offices, from which 
the business of the division was handled. They 
were upon the second floor of the dingy depot 
building which has been described more particularly 
in “ The Young Train Dispatcher,” and need not 
be dwelt upon here, except to observe that the 
passing years had added to its dinginess and dis- 
reputable appearance. 

From these offices there descended, one bright 
October evening, lunch-basket in hand, a young 
man, who, springing lightly across the branching 
tracks of the yards, reached the street beyond and 
turned eastward along it. It was noticeable that 
he seemed to know everyone employed around the 
yards and that they seemed to know him, and 
greeted him with a cordiality evidently genuine. 

Ten minutes’ walk brought him to a trim cot- 
tage standing back from the street, amid a bower 
of vines. Its grounds were ample, and well-kept. 

3 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 

At one side was a little orchard, whose trees showed 
the glint of ripening fruit. Farther back, near the 
barn, a cow was grazing, and the busy clatter of 
chickens came from an enclosure to the right. The 
place somehow gave the impression that those who 
lived within were happy and contented people; not 
rich, but able, by the labour of their hands, to as- 
sure themselves a comfortable livelihood — which 
is, perhaps, the happiest condition vouchsafed to 
human beings. 

Through the gate of this house the young man 
turned, and went slowly up the walk leading to the 
door. But as he stretched out his hand to turn the 
knob, the door flew open and a girl of about six- 
teen fairly flung herself into his arms. 

“Why, Mamie!” he cried. "Is it Mamie?” 
and he held her off for a moment’s inspection. 
“ When did you get back? ” 

“ On Number Three,” she answered. “ I had a 
notion to wait for you, and then I thought it would 
be nicer to come home and surprise you.” 

The words “ Number Three ” stamped both 
speakers as of the railroad. For who but one 
raised in the atmosphere of the road would 
know that “ Number Three ” was the west-bound 
flier? 

“ See how brown I am,” she added, holding her 
face up for his inspection. 

“ Yes,” he agreed, looking down at her, “ you 
are. Did you have a good time? ” 

4 


OLD FRIENDS 


“ Only so-so/’ she answered, smiling up at him. 
“ I can have the best time (of all right here at 
home.” 

“ So can I,” he agreed. “ It’s been a little lone- 
some with you away.” 

“Has it, Allan?” she asked, quickly, her eyes 
shining with the glint of sudden tears. “ It’s nice 
of you to say that.” 

“ Well, it’s true : and it won’t hurt to say it, 
now you’re back. But I didn’t dare tell you when 
I wrote. I wanted you to enjoy your visit. I 
thought you were going to stay till Tuesday.” 

“ Oh, I couldn’t stay any longer than to-day ! ” 
she protested, quickly. 

“Why not?” he asked, looking at her in sur- 
prise. “ What’s going to happen to-day ? ” 

“ Come in and you’ll see,” she answered, and led 
him triumphantly into the house. 

Through the hall they went, into the dining- 
room beyond, where a bright-faced woman, just 
entering middle-age, was putting the finishing 
touches to a table immaculately spread. 

“ Oh, there ye are ! ” she cried, turning as they 
entered. “ What kept you so long, Allan ? ” 

“ I’ve been out here gossiping with Mamie,” he 
explained, laughing. 

“ I was afeerd the supper would git stale,” she 
said. “I don’t like to keep things warmed up; 
they ain’t got the same taste they have when they’re 
cooked jest right and served right away.” 

5 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


“ You needn’t wait for me, if there’s company,” 
he said, seeing that an extra place had been 
laid. 

“ Oh, I reckon the company’s willin’ to wait,” 
she retorted, with a laugh. “ Only don’t be no 
longer than ye kin help.” 

“ I won’t,” Allan promised and hurried away. 

Five minutes later, he opened the door of the 
dining-room again, and saw who the visitor was. 

“ Why, Reddy ! ” he cried, going quickly for- 
ward, his hand outstretched. “ How are you ? 
I’m glad to see you.” 

“ The same here, Allan,” answered Reddy Ma- 
graw, warmly gripping the hand outstretched to 
him in his own honest palm. “ An’ mighty glad 
I was when Jack asked me t’ be here t’-day.” 

“ To-day,” echoed Allan, glancing quickly 
around at the smiling faces. “ Why, what day 
is it?” 

“ Don’t you know ? ” asked Jack, his face all one 
broad grin. “ Don’t you know, boy? ” 

Mamie’s eyes were dancing, as she looked at 
Allan’s perplexed countenance. 

“ Oh, it’s a disgrace, Allan, if you don’t remem- 
ber ! ” she cried. 

“ I’ll tell you what day it is, me boy,” said 
Reddy, his face beaming. “ It’s jist eight year ago 
t’-day sence a little scalpeen named Allan West 
come along out there on Section Twinty-one an* 
asked the foreman, Jack Welsh, fer a job. We’re 
6 


OLD FRIENDS 


meetin’ here t’-night t’ celebrate his good jedgment 
in givin’ ye one.” 

“ ’Tis the thing in all my life I’m most proud 
of,” said Jack. 

“ An’ the thing that has made me happiest,” 
added Mary. 

“ And I’d never have forgiven him, if he hadn’t,” 
cried Mamie, at which they all laughed, a little 
uncertainly, and sat down, their hearts very ten- 
der. 

“Can it really be eight years?” asked Allan, 
after a moment’s silence. “ It doesn’t seem pos- 
sible. And yet when one thinks what has hap- 
pened — ” 

“ They has a lot happened,” agreed Reddy. 
“ An’ many a happy day we had out there on Sec- 
tion Twinty-one. Not that I don’t like the work 
now, Jack,” he added. “ But my gang don’t seem 
t’ be loike the old one. Mebbe it’s because I’m 
gittin’ old an’ don’t see things with quite so much 
gilt on ’em as I used to.” 

“Old! Nonsense!” cried Jack. “Why, you’re 
a young man, yet, Reddy.” 

“ No, I ain’t,” said Reddy. “ I ain’t young by 
no means. An’ I’ve allers thought that that belt 
I got on the head from that runaway ingine had 
took some of the ginger out o’ me. But that’s all 
fancy, most likely,” he added, hastily, seeing Al- 
lan’s eyes upon him. 

“ Look here, Reddy,” said Allan, “ do you think 
7 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


my hitting you that time had anything to do with 
it?” 

No, I don’t/' said Reddy. “ I think that was 
the only thing that saved me. I’ve told ye already 
that I wouldn’t have complained if ye’d kilt me. 
Tell me about it ag’in, boy; I can’t hear that story 
too often.” 

So Allan told again the story of that wild Christ- 
mas eve when, as track-walker, he had found a 
gang of wreckers tearing up the rails, and how the 
pay-car had been saved, and the lives of those in 
it. 

“ Oh, it must have been terrible ! ” cried Mamie, 
who had been listening with starting eyes, as 
though she had never before heard the story. 
“ Think of creeping up alone on that gang of men! 
Weren’t you awfully frightened, Allan?” 

“ No,” answered Allan, smiling at her earnest- 
ness. “ I didn’t have time to get frightened, some- 
how. But,” he added, laughing, “ I don’t mind 
confessing, now, that two or three days later, as 
I lay in bed thinking the whole thing over, I was 
scared nearly to death. It’s a fact,” he went on, 
seeing their puzzled countenances. “ I just turned 
kind of faint thinking about it.” 

“ An’ no wonder,” said Reddy. “ ’Twas enough 
t’ make anybody turn faint. I remember jest sich 
another case. You knowed Tom Spurling, Jack?” 
he added, turning to Welsh. 

“ Yes,” nodded Jack. 


8 


OLD FRIENDS 

“ Well, then you’ll remember what a hot-headed 
feller he was — he had a head o’ red hair, by the 
way, purty nigh as red as mine. Well, one evenin’ 
he was hurryin’ acrost the yards t’ git his train — 
he was conductor on the west bound accommoda- 
tion. He was carryin’ his cap an’ his dinner- 
bucket an’ his lantern an’ his little red tin dickey- 
box, an’ he was hittin’ it up lively, bein’ a minute 
or two late. It was a kind o’ foggy night, an’ jest 
as he got to the platform',, Bill Johnson’s yard 
ingine come up behind an’ poked him in the legs 
with its footboard. Well, everybody expected t’ 
see Tom ground up in about two winks, but some 
way the ingine throwed him up on the platform, 
where he fell sprawlin’. Bill stopped the ingine 
an’ got down t’ see if Tom was hurted. Tom was 
settin’ up rubbin’ his head an’ glarin’ down at the 
lunch his missus had fixed up fer him an’ which 
was now scattered all over the platform and purty 
well mixed with cinders. 

“ ‘ Are ye hurted, Tom ? ’ asked Bill. 

“ ‘ Hurted ! ’ roared Tom. ‘No, o’ course not, ye 
blame fool ! But look at them victuals ! ’ 

“‘Jumpin’ Jehosaphat!’ says Bill. ‘Ye ain’t 
worryin’ about them are ye ? ’ 

“‘Yes, I am!’ yells Tom, jumpin’ to his feet. 

‘ Why don’t ye look where ye’re goin’ with thet 
ole mud turtle o’ yourn? Fer jest about half a 
cent — ’ 

“ But some o’ the fellers got ’em* apart, an’ Tom 
9 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


climbed on his train a minute later, still cussin’ Bill 
fer the loss o’ his lunch. 

ft Well, sir, he run his train down t’ Cinci all 
right, an’ next mornin’ started back with her, an’ 
they’d got as fer back as Midland City, when one 
o’ the passengers come an’ told the brakeman that 
the conductor was sick. An’ mighty sick he was, 
layin’ in a seat, white as a sheet, lookin’ like his 
last hour had come. 

“ ‘ Fer Heaven’s sake, Tom,’ says the brakeman, 
‘ what’s the matter ? ’ 

“ ‘ Oh, I was nearly kilt!’ groans Tom, hoarse 
as a frog. 

“‘Kilt!’ says the brakeman. 'Where? Shall 
I holler fer a doctor? Mebbe they’s one on board.’ 

“ f No,’ says Tom. ‘ I ain’t hurted.’ 

“ The brakeman thought he’d gone crazy. 

“ ‘ What you talkin’ about, anyhow ? ’ he says. 

“ ‘ No,’ goes on Tom, ‘ but it’s God’s providence 
I wasn’t chewed into mincemeat.’ 

“ ‘ When ? ’ says the brakeman. 

“ ‘ Last night,’ says Tom, ‘ by thet yard ingine 
at Wadsworth. It’s jest come to me what a narrer 
escape I had.’ 

“ Well, the brakeman told me, Tom was about 
the sickest man he ever seen fer an hour or more, 
an’ then he peckered up a little, an’ finally was all 
right ag’in.” 

I can imagine just how he felt,” said Allan, 
amid the laughter caused by Reddy’s story. “ I 

10 


OLD FRIENDS 


fancy it’s a good deal like seasickness. It just 
swoops down on you and takes the nerve out of you 
and leaves you limp as a rag.” 

From one story, they passed to another — the 
wreck at Vinton, the fight at Coalville, Dan Nolan’s 
death — stories which have already been told in 
the earlier books of this series, and which need 
not be repeated here. 

“ Did ye ever hear anything more o’ that snake, 
Nevins, what I chased all over creation that night 
he tried t’ wreck the president’s special ? ” inquired 
Jack. 

“ Yes,” Allan answered, “ I heard about him 
just the other day. Mr. Schofield told me that he 
had seen him at Cincinnati — passed him on the 
street.” 

“ What’s he doin’ ? ” asked Jack, quickly. 

“ I don’t know. Earning an honest living, I 
hope. Mr. Schofield said he was well-dressed and 
seemed to be prosperous.” 

“ Well, mebbe he is earnin’ an honest livin’, 
but I doubt it,” said Jack. “ I don’t think he 
knows how. That reminds me. I heard this arter- 
noon that Hayes is goin’ to Springfield.” 

“ Yes,” said Allan. “ He’s to be train master 
on the Illinois division.” 

“ Then that means that they’ll be a chief-dis- 
patcher to appoint here. Who’ll get it? Good- 
wood ? ” 

“ Yes; he’s next in line.” 

11 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


“An’ that’ll make you senior dispatcher?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ When I think,” said Jack, “ that eight year 
ago, this here felly was a kid lookin’ fer a job 
an’ that now he’s senior dispatcher, with a mighty 
good chance o’ bein’ superintindent some day, I 
begin t’ believe that a felly has a fair chance in 
this country, arter all. You know they’s allers 
sayin’ we’re all ground down by wealth; but I’ve 
noticed that the fellies who’s ground down are 
them that spends most o’ their time in some bar- 
room hollerin’ about it.” 

“ That’s true,” Allan agreed. “ And don’t for- 
get that you’ve gone up from section foreman to 
division roadmaster in the same time, and that 
you’re not done yet.” 

“ Yes, I am, me boy,” said Jack, gravely. “ I 
haven’t got th’ eddication t’ go any furder. I’ve 
got the experience, but that’s only half the equip- 
ment a felly has to have to reach the top. I don’t 
know jest how it is, but eddication — the real thing 

— seems t’ kind o’ give a man a bigger grasp of 
things. He kin put two and two together quicker 

— he kin see furder.” 

“ Jack’s right,” said Reddy. “ Now I’ve reached 
my limit in section foreman. It’s as fur as I kin 
go. I ain’t complainin’. I’m contented. But some 
of us is built fer speed, an’ some of us is built fer 
strength. Some of us has to pull freight, and some 


12 


OLD FRIENDS 


gits to pull polished Pullmans, but I reckon it all 
comes to th’ same thing in the end.” 

“ Yes,” said Allan, quietly, “ passenger and 
freight all have the same destination. And you 
know, as well as I do, that it’s the freight that 
counts most when it comes to figuring results.” 

The ringing of the telephone bell interrupted 
them, and Mamie ran to answer it. She was back 
in a moment. 

“ Somebody wants you, Allan,” she said. “ Mr. 
Schofield, I think.” 

Anxious eyes followed him, as he arose and 
went to the ’phone. A call from the superintendent 
might mean so many things — usually did mean 
disaster of some kind. He was gone a long time, 
and as the minutes lengthened, the shadow on the 
faces of those about the table deepened. They tried 
at first to keep up a semblance of conversation, but 
that finally dropped away and they sat silent. That 
it was something serious was evident. 

But Allan came back at last, and as he caught 
sight of their anxious faces, he laughed outright. 

“ No, it’s not a wreck,” he said, “ and I’m not 
fired.” 

He sat down, and the others waited. If it was 
anything he could tell them, they knew he would. 
If it was official business, they did not wish to 
question him. 

“ The fact is,” he went on, slowly, watching 


13 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


Mamie’s face with evident amusement, “ a very un- 
usual thing has happened.” 

“ Oh, Allan ! ” Mamie burst out, “ if you’re go- 
ing to tell us, please hurry and do it.” 

“ A very unusual thing,” Allan proceeded with 
provoking deliberation. “ You know I told you 
that Mr. Hayes is going to Springfield.” 

“ Yes,” said Mamie, encouragingly, bouncing in 
her seat. 

“Ain’t he goin’?” asked Jack. 

“ Oh, yes ; he’s going. He went this afternoon. 
But the fact is, Goodwood don’t want his job.” 

“ Why?” 

“ He says the hours are too long, and the added 
responsibility more than the added salary. He says 
he’s contented where he is.” 

“ Ho ! ” said Reddy. “ Reached his limit jest 
like me, an’ knows it. Well, it’s a wise man that 
knows when to let well enough alone.” 

But Mamie’s face suddenly gleamed with under- 
standing, and she jumped from her seat and rushed 
around the table to Allan’s side. 

“I know!” she cried. “I know! Oh, you 
stupid people ! Don’t you see ? Allan’s to be chief- 
dispatcher ! ” 

They were all on their feet now. 

“ What, Allan! Is it? ” cried Jack, incoherently. 

“ Yes,” answered Allan, “ I guess it is.” 

Jack came over to him and put his hands on his 
shoulders. 


14 


OLD FRIENDS 


“ Eight year ago to-day,” he said, looking him 
in the eyes. “ I’m proud of ye, me boy. But I 
don’t need t’ tell ye that.” 

“ And he’ll make the best chief this division ever 
had,” added Reddy with conviction. “ Where’s 
my hat? ” 

“ But you ain’t goin’ ! ” protested Mrs. Welsh. 
“ It’s early yet.” 

“ I know it is,” said Reddy. “ But I can’t stay. 
Not with this news in my craw. I must tell the old 
woman and the boys. They ain’t a man on the 
division that won’t be glad.” 


15 


CHAPTER II 


NEW DUTIES 

Two days later, Allan West entered regularly 
upon his new duties as chief-dispatcher of the Ohio 
Division of the P. & O. railway. Meantime, news 
of his promotion had got about, and it seemed as 
though every employee of the division, high or low, 
had made it a point to seek him out and congratu- 
late him. For Allan, in the eight years he had 
been with the road, had endeared himself to every- 
one by kindness and considerateness, and even those 
engineers and conductors who had a standing griev- 
ance against all dispatchers had come to confess 
that he was the squarest one they had ever met. 

The chief-dispatcher's office is a large and pleas- 
ant room, looking down over the busy yards, and 
is shared by Mr. Plumfield, the train master. A 
great desk stands between the front windows, one 
side of which belongs to the train master and the 
other to the chief-dispatcher. On it two sounders 
clicked, and from the open door of the dispatch- 
ers' office, at Allan’s back, came the incessant clam- 
ouring of other instruments. 

To one unaccustomed to it, this ceaseless noise 
16 


NEW DUTIES 


would have been perfectly distracting, but to the 
habitues of the offices it was scarcely noticeable. 
And yet, though they seemingly paid no heed to 
it, it had a meaning for them, and anything out of 
routine attracted their attention instantly. For 
telegraphers develop a sixth sense, which takes 
up and translates what the instruments are saying 
without interfering with any of the others. 

Perhaps you have seen an engineer sitting be- 
side his engine, reading a paper while the com- 
plicated mechanism whirls smoothly along at its 
appointed task. Suddenly, without cause so far 
as you can see, he starts up, snatches up an oil can 
or a wrench, and squirts a jet of oil upon a bear- 
ing or tightens a nut somewhere. No sign of 
trouble has been audible to you, but his trained 
ear, even though his brain was otherwise engaged, 
had caught an unaccustomed burr or rattle and had 
called his attention to it. 

Such instances might be multiplied indefinitely. 
Everyone who works at a certain task, or goes 
through a certain set of motions, becomes, after 
a time, to some extent automatic. Physiologists 
call such motions “ reflex,” and tell us that in time 
the brain passes on such volitions to the spinal cord 
and so frees itself for other work — one of the 
wise provisions of our bodily mechanism, whose 
wonder and perfection very few of us understand 
or appreciate. 

Allan was, of course, acquainted, in a general 

17 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 

way, with the duties of his new position, and he 
lost no time in further familiarizing himself with 
them. All of the operators along the line were 
under his control. He assigned them to their du- 
ties, promoted them or discharged them as occasion 
might arise, investigated any delinquency on their 
part, and held them accountable for the proper per- 
formance of their duties. In addition to this, he 
was required to see that empty freight cars were 
furnished the various agents along the line, as they 
needed them, and that loaded cars were taken up 
promptly and sent forwatd to their destinations. 
Every day, each agent wired in his car require- 
ments, and it was the chief-dispatcher’s business to 
see that these requirements were filled as speedily 
as possible. He was also expected to see that the 
dispatchers understood their duties, and to unravel 
any knotty point which any of them might not 
understand. 

Further than that, the clerical duties of the posi- 
tion were very heavy. He must make daily reports 
of the amount of freight handled; and if any 
freight crew was kept on the road more than six- 
teen hours, a special report must be prepared for 
the Interstate Commerce Commission, giving the 
facts in the case, and explaining why the crew had 
been kept out so long; for it is unlawful to keep 
any crew on duty for more than that length of 
time. A wise provision, for before this law was 
enacted, in busy seasons, railroads sometimes kept 
18 


NEW DUTIES 

their crews on duty for twenty-four, thirty-six and 
even forty-eight hours at a stretch — an abuse 
which inevitably resulted in accidents from the men 
going to sleep while on duty, or being so exhausted 
by the long hours as to grow careless and forgetful 
of orders. 

These were the duties when everything was mov- 
ing in regular order. At other times, the supreme 
duty of every one connected with the office was to 
get them back to regular order. For a great rail- 
road system is like a complicated machine — no 
part can run smoothly unless all are' running 
smoothly, and the throwing of the smallest cog 
out of gear cripples the entire mechanism. Al- 
though the train master was the “ trouble man,” 
— in other words, the man whose especial duty it 
was to superintend the clearing away of wrecks, 
and the straightening out of traffic — whenever 
anything happened to interfere with it, all other 
work became subordinate to that of restoring traf- 
fic to its normal condition. 

On this morning, however, everything was mov- 
ing in regular order; the sounders clicked out the 
reports of trains on time; there were no calls for 
cars which could not be answered promptly and no 
freight along the line which the regular locals could 
not handle. Conductors came and registered, com- 
pared their watches with the big electric clock which 
kept official time for the division, and departed; 

19 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


others reported in; trainmen loitered before the 
bulletin board, or gossiped in their lounging-room 
across the hall; the typewriting machine of the 
train master’s stenographer clicked steadily away; 
and there was about the place a contented hum of 
industry, such as one hears about a bee-hive on a 
warm day in late spring when the apples are in 
bloom. 

“ I heard some bad news about Hey wood, while 
I was in Cincinnati yesterday,” remarked Mr. 
Plumfield casually, in the course of the morning, 
referring to the general superintendent. 

“ Bad news ? ” questioned Allan, looking up 
quickly. 

“ I don’t believe he’s making good. Nothing 
definite, you know; just a general feeling of dis- 
satisfaction with him. I shouldn’t be surprised if 
he lost out.” 

“ What’s the matter with him?” 

“ You knew his wife died? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ She was a mighty sweet woman, and I imagine 
had lots of influence on Heywood. Well, after her 
death, he seemed to go to pieces more or less. His 
daughter, Betty, was away at school, or some- 
where, and didn’t know until she came home. You 
knew her? ” 

“ Oh, yes ; very well. I used to see her when 
they lived here.” 

“Yes; I rather fancied, sometimes — ” 

20 


NEW DUTIES 


“ I thought a great deal of her and still do,” 
Allan interrupted. 

Mr. Plumfield nodded. 

“ Well, she came home and tried to brace him 
up, and I dare say succeeded pretty well for a 
while — ” 

He stopped. There was no need that he should 
say anything more. 

Allan, staring at the report before him, remem- 
bered how kind Mr. Heywood had been to him 
years before; remembered his first vision of Betty 
Heywood, as she came bursting into her father’s 
office, one day when he was there. He had not 
seen her for nearly four years — not # since the 
night when she had ridden away on the east-bound 
flyer to go to school in the East. Had she changed, 
he wondered, or was she still the same warm- 
hearted, impulsive girl whom he had known? 

The sounder on Allan’s desk began to call him, 
and he came back to the present with a start. He 
opened the key and replied with the quick . . , . . , 
which told that he was ready to receive the mes- 
sage. 

“ Chief dispatcher, Ohio Division,” clicked out 
the little instrument. “ A special train consisting 
of combination coach and private car will leave 
Cincinnati eastbound about ten o’clock to-morrow 
morning. You will have your best engines ready 
to take it through to Wadsworth, and from there 
21 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


to Parkersburg. This special is to run without 
orders, its time to be governed only by the maxi- 
mum' speed of the engine, and is to be given a clear 
track with rights over everything. It must be ex- 
pedited in every way possible. A. G. Round, 

“ General Manager 

Mr. Plumfield whistled softly, as the message 
ended. 

“ Who do you suppose it is ? ” he asked. “ The 
Emperor of Germany?” 

“ That’s certainly an unusual order,” agreed 
Allan. 

“ I never saw but one like it before,” added Mr. 
Plumfield. “ That was when the president of the 
road was somewhere in the west, and his wife was 
reported dying back at Baltimore. We gave him 
right of way then.” 

“ Did he get there in time? ” asked Allan. 

“ Oh, she didn’t die. Maybe it was his presence 
saved her. Anyway, his train covered the two 
hundred miles from Cincinnati to Parkersburg at 
an average speed of fifty- three miles an hour. 
That was going some.” 

“ We’ll see if we can beat it to-morrow,” Allan 
answered, and turned to the task of clearing the 
track for the special. 

As he knew only the approximate time that the 
special would leave Cincinnati, it was necessary to 
prepare several plans, the one to be adopted depend- 
22 


NEW DUTIES 


ing upon the exact time the train pulled out from 
the Grand Central depot. From Cincinnati to 
Loveland he had a double track to work with, but 
from Loveland east, only a single track, and it was 
necessary to so arrange the schedule that no train 
would interfere with the special and at the same 
time to provide that they be interfered with as lit- 
tle as possible. Another difficulty arose from the 
fact that it was impossible to tell exactly how fast 
the special would run, and Allan’s brow wrinkled 
perplexedly as he bent above the time-card. 

“ I tell you what I’m going to do,” he said, at 
last, “ I’m going over the road with this train my- 
self. I’m not going to take any chances.” 

And that night, with the time-card in his pocket 
and his plans carefully laid, Allan boarded the ac- 
commodation for Cincinnati. 

The man in whose behalf this extraordinary or- 
der had been issued was no less a personage than 
a candidate for the Presidency of the United States. 
His election had been thought fairly certain, but 
hinged upon New York State. This, he had been 
confidently assured by the party leaders, he would 
carry without difficulty ; and he had not visited it 
except early in the campaign, for a few speeches. 
He had then devoted his attention to some doubt- 
ful states in the middle west, when, with the elec- 
tion only ten days off, he had received a message 
urging him to reach New York at the earliest pos- 
23 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 

sible moment, that unexpected opposition had de- 
veloped there, and that every moment was precious. 
In this strait, he had appealed to the railroads, and 
they had leaped to his aid. 

Not because of the man, nor because of the fact 
that he was a candidate for the greatest office 
within the gift of the people of this republic; but 
because they regarded his election as vital to their 
welfare. For the railroads had fallen among 
troublous times. The business regeneration of the 
past few years had affected them deeply. Whether 
rightly or wrongly, the American public, or a large 
portion of it, had come to believe that railroad 
management was corrupt and wasteful, that it dis- 
criminated against its patrons and used its wealth 
and influence to secure the passage of laws inimi- 
cable to public welfare. So severe measures had 
been taken to curtail this power, and to protect the 
interests of both the stockholders of the roads and 
of the people who gave them business. The issu- 
ing of passes had been forbidden; a commission 
had been established by the government to prevent 
and punish any discrimination in favour of any 
shipper of freight; laws had been passed curtail- 
ing the hours of railway employees ; in many states 
the legal fare to be charged passengers had been 
reduced by act of legislature from three to two 
cents a mile, and there had sprung up a wide-spread 
demand that freight rates be also regulated by law. 
Many roads felt that ruin was staring them in the 
2 . 4 : 


NEW DUTIES 


face, and an all-important question with them was 
the election of a president who would regard them 
with friendly eyes and who would throw his influ- 
ence against any revolutionary measures which 
might be aimed at them. 

It was not wonderful, then, that they should 
have rushed to the assistance of this man, since his 
opponent was pledged to work for the very meas- 
ures which the roads dreaded; and that, when his 
election seemed in danger, they should have placed 
their resources absolutely at his disposal, and have 
given him right of way over everything. He had 
been hurried across the plains of Missouri, shot into 
Saint Louis, flung across the prairies of Illinois and 
Indiana, and now, at 9.45 o’clock in the morning, 
the train shot into' the Grand Union station at Cin- 
cinnati, and came to a stop with a jerk. 

Ten minutes before, Allan, able at last to time 
the exact minute of its arrival, had sent out the 
messages which would govern its movements from 
Cincinnati to Wadsworth. There were to be no 
stops, except one for water, and, if all went well, 
he was determined to cover the hundred miles in 
a hundred minutes. He knew his engine and knew 
the engineer — 957, with Tom Michaels, lean, gray- 
haired, a bundle of nerves, a man to take chances 
if necessary, yet never to take one that was un- 
necessary; and he believed that the distance could 
be covered in that time. 

Three minutes were allowed in which to change 
25 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


engines, and half a dozen men were waiting to 
make the change. The air-hose was uncoupled and 
the old engine backed away. While the 957 was 
run down and coupled up, four men with flaring 
torches had been making an examination of the 
coach and private car, and in just three minutes, 
or at 9.48 a. m., the conductor held up his hand 
and Michaels gently opened the throttle. 

The old engineer’s face was gleaming. It was 
the first time in his long life at the throttle that 
he had ever been given a free track and told to go 
ahead. But he nursed her carefully over the net- 
work of tracks in the yards, out through the ditch 
and past the stock-yards before he really let her out. 
Then, slowly and slowly, he drew the throttle open, 
and with every instant the great engine gathered 
speed, while the fireman, equally interested and 
enthusiastic, nursed the fire until the fire-box was 
a pit of white-hot, swirling flame. 

Allan had ensconced himself on the forward end 
of the fireman’s seat, and sat for a time, watch in 
hand. Then he looked over at Michaels and 
nodded. They were making their mile a minute. 

“ It’s like ridin’ on a shootin’ star,” the fireman 
shouted up, as he rested for a moment from his 
exertions, bracing himself, his feet wide apart, 
against the swaying of the engine. “ Right 
through the middle of a white-hot comet,” he 
added, scraping the sweat from, his forehead. “ It 
surely is a hot day.” 


26 


NEW DUTIES 


Then he bent again to his task. Every thirty- 
five seconds he threw three scoops-full of coal into 
the fire-box, then closed the door for the same 
length of time. And always he kept his eye on 
the indicator, to see that the pressure never fell 
below the “ popping-off ” point. It may be that, 
for this occasion, Michaels had hung a little extra 
weight on the lever of his safety-valve. At any 
rate, no steam was wasted through it. 

There was a block system as far as Loveland, 
but beyond that, they had to trust to the observance 
of orders issued from division headquarters. On 
and on sped the train, the speed creeping up to 
sixty-five miles an hour, and once to seventy-four 
on a long down-grade. The whistle seemed to 
shriek its warning almost continuously; stations 
seemed to crumble to pieces with a crash as the 
train leaped past them; farm houses fluttered by 
or wheeled in stately procession across the land- 
scape. And always Michaels sat, his hand on the 
throttle, his eyes on the track ahead, swaying to 
the motion of the engine, as a rider sways to his 
steed; only moving from time to time to glance 
at his watch or at the steam and water gauge, to 
blow the whistle and open the injector which shot 
the water from the tank to the boiler of the engine. 
The track ahead seemed to be rushing toward them 
only to be swallowed up ; the nearer landscape was 
merely a gray blur; the telegraph poles flashed by 
“ like the teeth of a fine-tooth comb,” as the fire- 
27 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 

man remarked; and always there was the roar of 
the great machine, the crash and rumble as the 
engine hurled itself along the rails. It was a marvel 
that it kept them, or seemed so — a marvel that it 
did not hurtle away cross-country at its own sweet 
will. 

At New Vienna they paused for water. Mi- 
chaels, with the skill of a magician, brought his 
engine to a stop with the tank-opening exactly 
underneath the penstock beside the track. The fire- 
man lowered it with a clang and the water rushed 
and foamed down into the almost empty tank. 
Then, as the penstock swung up into place, Michaels 
opened the throttle and they were off again. 

Allan, glancing across at the engineer, saw how 
the sweat was pouring down his face; how his face 
had aged and lined under the strain; how the lips 
had tightened. It was a hot day, unusually hot for 
so late in the year, and the atmosphere was close 
with threatened storm — but it was not the heat 
alone which brought out the sweat upon the engi- 
neer, nor the discomfort which lined and aged his 
face. Yet he sat erect as ever, his eyes glancing 
from the track ahead to the gauges, and back again. 
Once he stooped from his seat to shout a warning 
word to the fireman, when the needle for an instant 
dropped a notch. Allan, glancing back, saw that 
the rear car was lost in a whirl of dust. It seemed 
as insignificant as a tail — a mere appendage to be 
whipped hither and thither as the engine willed. 

28 


NEW DUTIES 


He had ridden in cabs before — many times — but 
never under such conditions as these. He knew 
the track — he knew the rattle of every target as 
they flashed past it, the roar of every bridge as they 
rushed through it; and suddenly he remembered 
the sharp curve just beyond Greenfield, and won- 
dered if Michaels would slow up for it. 

The huddle of roofs that marked the town 
flashed into sight ahead, grew and grew, was upon 
them. The rattle of switches told that they were 
in the yards, but yard-limit speed had no bearing 
upon this case. He caught a glimpse of the signal 
before the station, and saw with relief that it was 
set at safety. Everything was working well, then, 
as he had planned it. Twenty miles more and they 
would be at Wadsworth, with the first leg of the 
journey covered. There was no need that he should 
go further with the train — he had tested its capa- 
bilities — he would know how to provide for it. 
Then the curve was upon them, and he braced him- 
self for the jar he knew must come as the engine 
struck it. Michaels, his face drawn and tense, sat 
staring ahead, but made no move toward closing 
the throttle, even a hair’s-breadth. 

There was a mighty jolt, and the engine seemed 
to climb over the rails. Allan could feel it lift 
perceptibly, but the wheels held. A moment 
more — 

And then, as they cleared the curve and caught 
a glimpse of the straight track beyond, he saw 
29 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


steaming toward them, under full headway, not a 
hundred yards away, another engine. Only for an 
instant he saw it; then, as Michaels closed the 
throttle and jerked on the brakes, he closed his eyes 
involuntarily, for he knew that no power on earth 
could stop the train in time. 


30 


CHAPTER III 


THE MIRACLE AT GREENFIELD 

Meanwhile, back in his private car, the great 
man, as was his custom in any circumstance, had 
made himself as comfortable as might be. It was 
a luxurious car, eighty feet in length, with bath, 
kitchen, lounging room, bed rooms, dining room — 
in fact, everything that a modern home could have, 
on a small and compact scale. Travel in this car 
was as luxurious as travel could be. And even at 
the wild rate of speed at which it was jerked for- 
ward, it maintained a long, steady roll, much like 
that of a ship on a calm sea. Only when one 
glanced out the windows at the blurred landscape 
was the speed apparent, unless, indeed, one kept 
one’s eyes on the needle, which flickered ceaselessly 
up and down on the speed-indicator. 

Both of these things the great man studiously 
refrained from doing, but turning his back alike 
to the windows and to the indicator, he devoted 
his time to going through his correspondence, dic- 
tating to his secretary, and meditating ways and 
means for holding New York in the column of the 
“ safe and sane.” 


31 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 

He sat up late into the night, as the train whirled 
across the Illinois prairies, smoking meditatively, 
a wrinkle of perplexed anxiety between his brows, 
for the path to the White House was proving more 
thorny than he had thought possible. Not the 
least of his unexpected tribulations was this record- 
breaking trip half across the continent. He was 
naturally a nervous man, and this hurtling through 
space distressed him acutely. He felt that he was 
being offered as a sacrifice upon the altar of his 
country, and the sensation was anything but pleas- 
ant. His only consolation was that his meteoric 
trip was being featured by the papers, both friendly 
and unfriendly, and would prove an excellent ad- 
vertisement — more especially since the friendly 
papers were taking care to point out how lightly 
the great man considered his own comfort — nay, 
even his life — when his country called him! He 
smiled grimly to himself as he thought of those 
headlines, for he was thoroughly conscious that he 
was not in the least heroic, but merely an ordinary 
man with a faculty of making friends, a power 
of keeping his mouth shut when it was wise to 
do so, and a gift for rounded periods when rounded 
periods were demanded. 

He went to bed, at last, long after midnight, 
and it was not until Cincinnati had been left far 
behind that he arose. He took his bath, dressed 
himself leisurely, and finally sat down to breakfast. 
Sitting thus, with his side to the window, he could 
32 


THE MIRACLE 


not escape the vision of the landscape, which was 
rushing madly past. Involuntarily his eyes rested 
for- an instant on the speed-indicator, and he started 
as he saw that the needle showed an hourly speed 
of seventy-two miles. He closed his lips firmly 
together and with a hand not altogether steady 
started to attack his grapefruit. 

Then suddenly the car lurched heavily and the 
next instant it seemed to stand on end and buckle 
in the middle. The great man was thrown for- 
ward across the table, which overturned with a 
crash; a negro waiter, who was just entering with 
a tray of dishes, was hurled through a glass par- 
tition and disappeared with a yell of terror. Every 
movable thing in the car leaped toward the front 
end; what was breakable broke and the orderly 
interior was transformed in an instant to an appal- 
ling chaos. 

Of what happened in the next minute or two, 
the great man never had any very definite recol- 
lection. He staggered to his feet at last and looked 
dazedly around. Had there been a wreck? Was 
he badly injured ? 

Then he realized that the car was moving, that 
the landscape was slipping past as rapidly as ever. 
His eyes fell again upon the needle of the indicator. 
It stood at sixty-eight. He glared at it for a 
moment, unable to believe his senses, then col- 
lapsed into a chair and buried his head in his 
hands. 


33 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 

And it was in that position that his secretary 
found him. 

Bill Higgins, the engineer, always claimed it was 
because the agent at Roxabel had held him up for 
an hour waiting for a box-car to be loaded. The 
car was for a friend of the agent’s, Bill explained, 
or he never would have held the train. It wasn’t 
perishable goods, either — just some household 
stuff, which the friend was having moved in from 
Roxabel to Loveland. 

Jim Burns, the conductor, said it was the heat 
— a really remarkable and enervating heat for 
October, presaging a great storm brewing some- 
where. What the fireman said and the brakemen 
is immaterial, because when their superiors went 
to sleep, it was to be expected that they would do 
likewise. All of which came out when Train Mas- 
ter Plumfield had them “ on the carpet ” for the 
investigation which followed. What happened was 
really this ; 

Local freight west had started out from Wads- 
worth early in the morning, to make the trip in to 
Cincinnati, picking up such cars as were waiting 
for it along the way, and delivering others to the 
several stations. The day was hot — there was 
no question of that — and the work was heavy, for 
there was an unusual number of cars to deliver 
and pick up. Besides which, came the delay at 
Roxabel, where the agent did hold the train for 
34 


THE MIRACLE 




a while, until the work of loading a car could be 
finished. The agent swore, however, that the delay- 
on this account did not amount to more than fifteen 
minutes. At Lyndon, came an order for the freight 
to proceed to the gravel-pit siding east of Green- 
field, and run in there and await the passage of 
a special. 

“ Don’t say how long we’ll have to wait,” said 
Burns, as he and the engineer compared notes. 
“ Jest wait — time ain’t no object to nobody. We’ll 
be mighty lucky if we get into Cincinnati before 
midnight.” 

“ Them dispatchers don’t know their business, 
an’ never did ! ” protested Higgins, wiping the per- 
spiration from his red face. “ It’s an outrage to 
keep a train on the roacl the way they’re keepin’ 
us. The government ort t’ hear about it.” 

“ It sure ort,” agreed the conductor. “ Well, 
I guess we’re ready,” and as the train rattled slowly 
out of the siding, he swung himself aboard the 
caboose, looked back to see that a yard-man closed 
the switch, and then, having made up his report 
as far as he could, calmly laid himself down in a 
berth and went to sleep. 

The train rumbled on under the hot sun. The 
engineer, looking ahead, could see the waves of 
heat rising from the rails and the pitch oozing from 
the ties. Beside him, the fire beneath the boiler 
spat and roared ; the sun beat down upon the great 
locomotive, until Higgins almost fancied it was 
35 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


turning red-hot before his eyes. The fireman, 
stripped to the waist, swung the fire-box door open 
and shut as he ladled in the coal, stopping now and' 
then to dash the sweat from before his eyes or to 
spray himself with water from the tank. For they 
were travelling with the wind, not against it, and 
so lost the effect of any cooling breeze. 

“ Blamed if you’d think she’d need so much coal,” 
remarked the front brakeman, who was riding in 
the cab. “ You’d think this heat would purty nigh 
git up steam without any help.” 

“ You don’t know this blamed old hog,” said the 
fireman, referring to the engine. “ She eats up 
coal like a trans- Atlantic liner. I’ve thought some- 
times they wasn’t no front end to her fire-box, an’ 
that I was jest shovellin’ coal out into creation. 
She’s a caution, she is ! ” 

“ Oh, she ain’t so bad,” put in Higgins, who like 
all engineers, loved his engine in spite of her faults. 
“ You’re jest a-talkin’, Pinkey.” 

“Huh!” grunted Pinkey. “You trade jobs 
with me awhile an’ see.” 

But to this absurd proposal the engineer returned 
no answer. Instead, he tooted the whistle for a 
crossing, and, his hand on the throttle, watched a 
nervous farmer whip a team of horses across the 
track. 

“ Blamed fool ! ” he muttered. “ Couldn’t wait 
till we got past! Well, there’s the sidin’,” he 
added, and stopped until the brakeman had 
36 


run 


THE MIRACLE 

ahead and thrown the switch. Then he ran slowly 
in. 

The brakeman closed the switch, and swung 
himself up into the caboose. He found the con- 
ductor and rear brakemen peacefully sleeping, and 
without disturbing them, clambered up into the 
cupola, intending to keep a lookout for the special, 
and open the switch after it had passed, so that 
the freight could pass out again upon the main 
track and proceed upon its way. For a few min- 
utes, his eyes remained fixed upon the track ahead ; 
then his lids gradually drooped, his head nodded, 
and finally fell forward upon his arms. 

Forward in the engine, the engineer and fireman 
settled themselves upon their respective boxes. 

“ How long do we have t’ wait ? ” inquired the 
latter, after a few moments, 

“ Blamed if I know,” answered the engineer. 
“ That fool dispatcher didn’t say. But it can’t be 
more’n ten minutes. If it had been, he’d have let 
us go on to Greenfield.” 

The minutes passed ; and, finally, lulled by the 
quiet breathing of the engine, the purr of insects, 
and the distant rattle of a mowing machine, both 
engineer and fireman nodded off. 

Twenty minutes later, the engineer awoke with 
a start, just in time, as he thought, to hear the roar 
of a train fade away in the distance. He glanced 
at his watch, then got down from his seat, and 
shook the fireman with no gentle hand. 

37 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


“ Goin’ t’ stay here all day, Pinkey ? ” he asked. 
“ An’ what’s the matter with them blame fools back 
there? ” he added, savagely, and seizing the whistle 
cord, blew three shrill blasts. A moment later, the 
front brakeman, who had started awake at the first 
blast, came running forward over the train and 
clambered down into the cab. 

“ Why don’t some o’ you ijits open that there 
switch back there,” demanded Higgins, “ so’s I kin 
back out? Or do you want t’ stay here the rest 
o’ your natural lives?” 

“'Why don’t you pull straight out?” asked the 
brakeman. “What’s th’ use o’ backin’ up?” 

“ Why, that there switch has been out o’ fix fer 
three months,” answered Higgins, savagely. “ I’ve 
reported it a dozen times, but much good it does. 
Burns knows it. He knows we’ve got t’ back out. 
Why don’t he wake up ? Is he deef ? ” and he 
jerked the whistle fiercely again. 

Conductor and brakeman in the caboose were 
having a discussion of much the same tenor. Then 
Burns remembered about the broken switch. 

“ We’ve got t’ back out,” he said. “ Higgins ’s 
right. Git her open,” and as the brakeman threw 
the switch, he signalled the engineer to back up. 

The front brakeman, meanwhile, being of an in- 
quiring disposition, had dropped off the engine and 
walked forward to the other switch, to see just 
what the matter was with it. To his surprise, he 
found it in perfect working order, for the section 
38 



a 


THE NEXT INSTANT IT FLASHED INTO VIEW AROUND 
THE CURVE.” 






THE MIRACLE 


gang had repaired it the afternoon before. Chuck- 
ling to himself, he opened and closed it two or 
three times, thinking what a good joke he had on 
Burns and Higgins. Then, looking back, he saw 
that his train had passed out upon the main track 
and was steaming toward him. 

He closed the switch and was just about to lock 
it, when he heard another sound that made his heart 
stand still — the roar of a train approaching from 
the west. The next instant it flashed into view 
around the curve, running, as the brakeman after- 
wards expressed it, about three hundred miles a 
minute. 

Without conscious thought, but seizing the one 
chance in a thousand to avoid a terrible accident, 
he threw the switch open again and then sprang 
aside as the special swept in upon the siding. He 
heard the screaming of the brakes and saw the 
train fairly buckling upon itself in an almost human 
efifort to stop. But stop it could not, and out upon 
the main track again it swept, through the switch 
at the farther end of the siding, which the brake- 
man there had sense enough to open, and on toward 
Wadsworth. 

Staring after it, they saw it pick up speed again, 
and disappear. 

And it was a mighty solemn train crew that took 
that local freight in to Greenfield. 


39 


CHAPTER IV 


AFTERMATH 

Should Allan West live for a hundred years, 
he will never forget that instant in which he closed 
his eyes and braced himself for the terrific shock 
he knew must come. There was no time to think, 
no time even for the sensation of fear to make 
itself felt; only a sort of dim realization that the 
end was at hand. 

Then he felt the engine give a mighty lurch, 
which almost tore it from the rails; a roar sounded 
in his ears, there was another lurch, and opening 
his eyes, at last, he saw only the straight track 
ahead of him, and felt the engine gradually gaining 
speed as Michaels released the brakes and slowly 
opened the throttle. 

He sat erect with a gasp of amazement, and 
wiped the sweat from his forehead with shaking 
hand. He looked down at the fireman, who had 
phlegmatically resumed his duties ; then over at the 
engineer, who was gazing straight ahead of him, 
his face set and gray. 

“ What happened ? ” he shouted, as the fireman 
closed the fire-box and stood resting for a moment. 

40 


AFTERMATH 


“ Blamed if I know,” the latter answered. “ I 
was shovellin’ in coal, when Bill clapped on the 
brakes and purty nigh throwed me into the fire- 
box. Then we passed a freight an’ Bill let her out 
again. He must ’a’ thought she was on the same 
track.” 

“ She was on the same track,” said Allan. 

“ Well, we passed her, anyway,” retorted the 
fireman, philosophically, and returned to his du- 
ties. 

Then Allan remembered the switch and under- 
stood dimly what had happened. But it was not 
until the investigation was held that he knew all 
the details. 

The crew of the freight were, of course, hauled 
up “ on the carpet.” The two brakemen. who had 
opened the switches at the proper instant and 
shunted the special past were commended for their 
prompt action, and exonerated from blame, as the 
train was, of course, in charge of the conductor 
and engineer. The two latter worthies were sus- 
pended indefinitely without pay. 

It was by no means the first time in the history 
of the road that a freight crew had gone to sleep 
on a siding and waked up to find that they no longer 
knew what their rights were. The proper thing to 
have done, of course, was either to have flagged 
in to the next station, or to have hunted up the near- 
est telephone and found out from the dispatchers’ 
office just what their rights were. 

41 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


“ That front brakeman will make a good rail- 
road man,” remarked Mr. Plumfield, when the in- 
quiry into the incident was over, taking a little red, 
leather-bound book from a drawer of his desk. 
“ He’s quick-witted — no man ever lasted very long 
with a railroad who wasn’t.” 

He ran down the index at the front of the book, 
turned to the names of the four men who had just 
been on the carpet, and wrote a short sentence after 
each of them. That record would stand to com- 
mend or condemn them so long as they were con- 
nected with the road. The record of every man 
was there, with all his merits and demerits. Train 
masters might forget — might be promoted or dis- 
charged — but that record always remained. 

“ Yes,” went on the train master, restoring the 
book to its drawer, “ if a railroad man’s wits aren’t 
hung on hair-triggers and quicker than greased 
lightning in action, he’s usually knocked into King- 
dom Come before he has a chance to realize he 
never was cut out for the work.” 

And Mr. Plumfield was right. A railroad man 
must learn to act without stopping to think — he 
seldom has time to think. Perhaps if he had, he 
wouldn’t be so ready to risk his life as he is — 
for he risks his life a thousand times to a soldier’s 
once — but he always does it in a hurry. There 
is no long waiting under fire until the welcome 
order comes to charge — if there were, the railroad 
man would probably run away, and so would the 
42 


AFTERMATH 


soldier, but for the iron discipline that binds him. 
That’s what discipline is for — to hold men firm 
in the face of realized and long-continued danger 
— for there is nothing on earth more difficult than 
to make men stand still and be shot at. The rail- 
road man never has to stand still — he has to jump, 
and jump quick. All men aren’t heroes, but their 
first impulse is usually to do the brave and neces- 
sary thing. Railroad men always act on that first 
impulse — and think about it and shiver over it 
and wonder at themselves afterwards. 

Despite the misadventure, the special swept into 
Wadsworth on time, having covered ninety miles in 
ninety minutes — a record which has never been 
equalled, or even, for that matter, very nearly ap- 
proached. For never since has a train been sent 
over the road under such orders. 

A crowd had gathered at the Wadsworth station 
to receive the great man, confident that he would, 
at least, favour them with one of those scintillating 
three-minute talks for which he was so famous. 
So they gathered about the rear platform of his 
car yelling “ Speech ! speech ! ” For a time there 
was no response, then, finally, the door opened, but 
it was not the great man who appeared. It was 
his secretary, looking very white and shaky. He 
apologized for the great man in a thin and trem- 
ulous voice; the trip had been a very trying one, 
and the great man was suffering from the strain 
43 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 

incident to the vigorous campaign he had been 
waging. He was lying down, endeavouring to get 
some much-needed rest, recognizing the necessity 
of saving himself for the final struggle which was 
to bring New York safe into line and assure an 
administration whose first effort it would be, etc., 
etc. 

The crowd gave a few subdued cheers and melted 
away. Then the secretary leaped down the steps of 
the car and rushed up to Allan, who was watching 
the process of changing engines. 

“ Are you in charge here ? ” asked the secretary. 

“ I’m putting this special through, if that’s what 
you mean,” answered Allan. 

“ Well,” said the secretary, “ you’re wanted in 
the private car at once.” 

“ Very well,” said Allan, and sprang up the 
steps behind him. 

The great man was half-sitting, half-lying in a 
large chair. His face was gray and sunken and 
his eyes strangely bloodshot. 

“ This is the man in charge,” said the secretary, 
bringing Allan to a halt before the chair. 

“ I just want to tell you one thing,” said the 
great man, hoarsely, lifting a trembling finger, 
“ and that is that if you’re all crazy out here I’m 
not! The man who brought us over that last 
stretch of road ought to be in an asylum.” 

“ We made the ninety miles in ninety minutes,” 
said Allan, with some pride. 

44 


AFTERMATH 


“ Well, I won’t stand for anything more of that 
sort. Give me your word not to exceed fifty miles 
an hour at any time, or I’ll get off the train.” 

“ Very well, sir,” answered Allan. “ Will you 
put it in writing? M 

“ In writing? What for?” 

“ My orders are to push the engines for all 
they’re worth.” 

The great man swore a mighty oath. 

“ Jim, give me a sheet of paper,” he said to his 
secretary. And a moment later the order was writ- 
ten, in a sprawly scribble : 


“ October 15, 19 — 

“ This special will hereafter at no time exceed 
a speed of fifty (50) miles per hour. 

“ Signed, ” 

And Allan still has that order, neatly framed, 
hanging over his desk. 

He hurried away and modified the train-orders, 
so that Clem Johnson, the engineer who was to take 
the special from Wadsworth to Parkersburg, sud- 
denly lost all interest in life and climbed into his 
cab in a towering rage. 

“ Lost his nerve,” he said to his fireman, with a 
jerk of his head toward the private car. " An’ I 
don’t suppose they’ll be any runnin’ on the same 
road with Michaels no more — he’ll have the swell- 


45 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


head so bad. It’s tough luck — that’s what I call 
it — mighty tough luck.” 

“ Them fellers never do have any sand,” ob- 
served the fireman, contemptuously. “ We’d V 
beat Michaels’s time easy.” 

“ O’ course we would ! ” growled the engineer. 
“ An’ now we’ve got t’ crawl along like a funeral 
percession. I’ll show him!” and he pulled the 
throttle open viciously, so that the train started 
with a jerk that caused the great man to jump with 
alarm. 

The engineer observed his orders not to exceed 
fifty miles an hour, but the trip was not a pleasant 
one, for all that; for he took a savage delight in 
banging and jerking the train, so that even the 
great private car felt the uneven motion, and 
swayed and groaned and jumped in a manner which 
reduced its distinguished occupant to the verge 
of prostration. Finally he called the conductor. 

“ What’s the matter with this track, anyway?” 
he demanded. “ I feel like I was riding over a 
corduroy road. Has there been an earthquake, or 
what?” 

“ No, sir,” answered the conductor, who under- 
stood what the engineer was doing and was de- 
lighted thereat. “ There ain’t been no earthquake. 
The track is perfectly smooth, sir. I don’t think 
the engine’s working just right — a little uneven.” 

“ Uneven ! ” repeated the great man. “ Is that 
the best word you can find for it? It reminds me 
46 


AFTERMATH 


of a bucking broncho ! Heavens ! ” and he buried 
his face in his hands again. 

“ Huh ! ” grunted the conductor to himself, as 
he withdrew. “ Lost his nerve!” 

It was true. The great man had lost his nerve. 
Not for weeks did he regain his usual tone. The 
leaders in New York were greatly disappointed 
by his lack of “ ginger ; ” his speeches did not have 
that telling quality they had possessed of old — in 
a word, he lost New York State and the Presidency 
— and all, perhaps, because a freight crew went 
to sleep on a siding out in Ohio. An incident, 
surely, to rank with the spider -that saved Mahomet 
or the whinny which made Darius King of Persia. 


47 


CHAPTER V 


THE NEW TIME - CARD 

So, day by day, the work at the dispatchers’ office 
went on in its accustomed routine. Always there 
was the clatter of the keys, always the trains pulling 
in and out of the yards, always the coming and 
going of men like a mighty and well-disciplined 
army. They were servants of the mightiest indus- 
trial force in the world, the thing which had done 
most for the development of commerce, the ad- 
vancement of trade — the thing without which, in 
a word, the world of to-day would not be possible. 
Few people realize the tremendous business done 
by the railroads of the world. In the United States 
alone, in a single year, besides the eight hundred 
million passengers carried, a billion and a half tons 
of freight are moved, the total passenger and 
freight mileage reaching the inconceivable total of 
two hundred and forty-two billion, for which the 
roads received nearly two and a half billion dollars, 
or more than twice the amount of the national debt. 
Figures like that, of course, make no impression on 
the mind — they are too vast, too grandiose for 
human comprehension. 


48 


THE NEW TIME-CARD 


And the gigantic task of moving this freight 
and these passengers goes on from day to day, from 
hour to hour, in the usual course of things, just as 
the sun rises and sets, almost as though operated 
by a law of nature and not by man’s exertion, by 
the law of gravitation and not in defiance of it. 
And just as people grow accustomed to the miracle 
of sunrise and cease to wonder at it, so they grow 
accustomed to the miracle of steam. Only those 
who, day by day, do battle to keep the great ma- 
chine in operation realize fully what a desperate 
battle it is. Allan West was soon to have a per- 
sonal experience with a vital part of the mechanism 
with which he had never before come in contact. 

“ Allan,” Superintendent Schofield said one 
morning, stopping beside his desk, “ we’ve got our 
new time-card about ready, and I wish you’d ar- 
range to-morrow so you can come and help us 
string the chart.” 

“ String the chart ? ” repeated Allan. 

“ Yes. It’ll interest you — besides, it’s some- 
thing you ought to know. We’re going to throw 
Number Two half an hour later, and make one or 
two other changes.” 

Allan knew that the “ time-card meeting ” had 
been held at Cincinnati a few days before. Indeed, 
Mr. Schofield had talked over with him the pro- 
jected changes, and the reasons for them. 

For it must be understood that railroads every- 
where are striving ceaselessly to arrange their 
49 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 

time-cards to meet the needs of the public and 
to secure the greatest possible economy of opera- 
tion. It is foolish for a road to run two trains 
when one will do, but while the number of trains 
is cut to a minimum 1 , they must be run at such 
hours as will be convenient to the public which 
they serve, otherwise they won’t get the traffic. A 
certain number of people, of course, have to travel 
every day, whether the trains run at convenient 
hours or not; but with a much greater number 
travel is a matter of pleasure, of choice, and with 
them convenience has great weight — much greater 
than one would suppose. 

Thus, in the vicinity of a great city, there must 
be locals going in in the morning and coming out 
in the afternoon, so that “ commuters ” may get 
back and forth to work, and shoppers may be ac- 
commodated. These trains must be sufficient in 
number to meet the demand, and must be run at 
such hours as will suit the different classes of peo- 
ple they serve. If the train-service is bad, the 
“ commuters ” will move, if they can, to a place 
where it is better — where they can get to and from 
work more cheaply and easily. Rents will go down 
in the district which is badly served, real estate will 
decrease in value, an undesirable class of people 
will move into it, and the traffic from it will drop 
away to little or nothing. So the road, by care- 
lessness at the beginning, brings its own punish- 
ment surely at the end. 


50 


THE NEW TIME-CARD 


Further, it is immaterial as to the time that the 
through trains pass these points, since they gather 
practically no traffic from them. A through train 
considers only its terminals — when is the best time 
for it to leave New York and arrive at Cincinnati. 
Can such a train be arranged to leave New York 
after business hours and arrive at Pittsburg before 
them? Two great roads are at the present time 
running trains between New York and Chicago 
with the boast that one can go from one city to 
the other without losing an hour of the business 
day. 

So with through trains, the most important ob- 
ject is to shorten the running time as much as pos- 
sible. The “ locals ” can take care of the short- 
haul traffic, and their hours can be accommodated 
to it; but the through trains must get from ter- 
minus to terminus, with regard only to the time 
of leaving and arriving. 

In consequence, time-cards are constantly chang- 
ing. Perhaps a curve has been straightened, or a 
tunnel completed that saves a long detour; perhaps 
a grade has been lowered, an old bridge replaced 
with a new one — such changes as these every road 
is constantly making. And time-cards change with 
them. 

Or perhaps faster and heavier engines are pur- 
chased, and a complete change of time-card is at 
once rendered necessary. For every through train 
runs as fast as it can run with safety. And as a 
51 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


road grows older, and time-card after time-card is 
made out, the running time of the trains is made 
more and more perfect, until there are long 
stretches where the engineer does not have to touch 
his throttle, so exactly does the running time of 
the train correspond with the best the engine can 
do. The passenger who remarks to a companion 
upon the smoothness of the running, and who 
glances with approbation at his watch as the train 
pulls into its destination exactly on time, does not 
know what patient and long experimenting it took 
to achieve that result. 

“ Ya-as,” drawled old Bill Williams, sarcastic- 
ally, when I read the above paragraph to him. 
“ Ya-as, that’s all very pretty in theory — but how 
about the practice, my boy? ” 

I had to confess that I was weak in practice. 
But I knew that Bill was strong, for he had served 
over forty years at the throttle before an affection 
of the eyes had caused him to retire from active 
service and to open a railroad boarding-house, by 
means of which he still managed to keep in touch 
with the life of the road. 

“ Wa-al,” he went on, taking a deliberate chew 
of tobacco, and putting his feet up on the railing 
of the veranda which ran across the front of the 
Williams House, “ theory an’ practice air two 
mighty different things. Time-cards is usually 
built on theory, an’ it’s up to the engineer t’ main- 
52 


THE NEW TIME-CARD 

tain 'em in practice. The trouble is that time-cards 
is made out fer engines in puffect condition, which 
not one in ten is. So the engineer has to make 
up fer the faults of his engine — a good deal like 
a good rider’ll lift his hoss over a five-barred gate, 
where a bad one’ll come a cropper every time. So 
when y’ see a train that’s come a thousand mile, 
pull in on time to the minute, don’t you go an’ make 
the mistake o’ thinkin’ it was the engine, or the 
time-card, or even the dispatchers what did it, 
’cause it wasn’t. It was the crews what brought 
thet there train through in spite o’ wind an’ weather 
an’ other folkses mistakes.” 

Nevertheless, even Bill would admit, I think, the 
necessity of carefully and intelligently prepared 
time-cards, and certainly there was no one item in 
the operation of the road to which the officials gave 
such close and continued attention. Two or three 
meetings were held at the general offices at Cin- 
cinnati, at which all of the. officials of the trans- 
portation department, as well as the general offi- 
cials, were present. Here, with data carefully col- 
lected, it was decided how many passenger and 
freight trains were to be run, what changes of time 
were desirable, and at what hour and minute each 
train was to leave and arrive at the termini of the 
division. It now remained to provide the meeting- 
points for these trains, and this task was left to 
the division officials at Wadsworth. It was this 


53 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 

ceremony, known as “ stringing the chart,” at 
which Allan had been invited to assist. 

The chart itself was a large map about five feet 
high by eight wide, covered with numberless par- 
allel lines. Across the top and bottom of the board, 
at equal distances, were twenty-four numbers, rep- 
resenting the twenty-four hours. They began at 
twelve midnight, ran up to twelve noon, and then 
to twelve midnight again. From top to bottom of 
the board, connecting these numbers, perpendicular 
lines were drawn: The space between the numbers 
was then divided into twelve equal parts, and 
lighter lines drawn connecting them. The space 
between every two of these lines therefore repre- 
sented five minutes, and there were 288 of them 
running across the board from top to bottom. 

On each side of the board at the top, and on a 
line with the top row of numbers, the word “ Cin- 
cinnati ” was printed. At the bottom of the board, 
on either side, and in line with the numbers there, 
was the word “ Parkersburg.” These are the ter- 
mini of the division, and they are 195.3 miles apart. 
Then along each side of the board the names of 
all the stations of the line were printed, the dis- 
tances between them and the termini being carefully 
figured out so that the distances on the board should 
be exactly proportionate to the real distances. Hor- 
izontal lines were then drawn across the board, con- 
necting the names of the same station, and the time- 
chart was complete. 


54 


THE NEW TIME-CARD 


Usually it was stored in a back room, out of the 
way, carefully covered so that it would be kept 
clean. On the morning in question, however, it was 
uncovered, carefully wiped off, and then wheeled 
into the superintendent’s office, where the ceremony 
of stringing it was to be performed. Mr. Schofield 
was there, and the train master, and Allan, eager 
to see the process. On the superintendent’s desk 
lay two balls of string, one white and one red, and 
a note-book in which had been jotted down the 
time assigned to each train. 

“ Well, I guess we’re ready to begin,” said Mr. 
Schofield, picking up the white ball and stepping 
before the chart. “ We’ll string the east-bound 
trains first,” he added. 

Let it be said here that east-bound trains are 
always indicated by even numbers and west-bound 
trains by odd ones. Thus, on any road, “ Number 
Four,” for instance, will always be an east-bound 
train, and “ Number Three ” will always be a west- 
bound one. In addition to which, it should be re- 
membered that east-bound trains always have right 
of way over west-bound trains of the same class. 
That is to say, when an east-bound and west- 
bound first-class passenger train meet, it is the 
west-bound train which runs in on a siding and 
waits until the other sweeps by on the main 
track. 

“ Now,” continued Mr. Schofield, “ we’ll begin 
with Number Four, which has rights over every- 
55 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


thing. Look at those notes, Allan, and tell me at 
what time it is to leave Cincinnati.” 

“At 12.15 p. m.,” said Allan, picking up the 
note-book. 

“ Correct. Now this line running up and down 
across the centre of the board is for twelve o’clock 
noon. This third line after it is for 12.15, five 
minutes for each line. This line across the top of 
the board is for Cincinnati, so I drive a pin there 
and loop the end of this cord around it, so,” and 
he suited the action to the word. “ Now, at what 
time does Number Four reach Wadsworth?” 

“ At 3.05,” answered Allan, looking at the notes. 

“ Well — see, here is the 3.05 line, and here, 
running across the board, about midway down., is 
the Wadsworth line. I drive another pin at the 
intersection of these two lines, draw the cord tight 
and loop it about this second pin. And now 
what ? ” 

“ The train stops at Wadsworth five minutes to 
change engines,” said Allan. 

“ So I drive a third pin right out along this 
Wadsworth line at the intersection of it and the 
3.10 o’clock line. Now, what time does it reach 
Parkersburg? ” 

“ At 5.50 P. M.” 

“ Well, here’s the 5.50 line, and here, at the bot- 
tom of the board, is the Parkersburg line. I drive 
a fourth pin there, draw the cord tight and tie it. 
Then I cut it off, and tie at the end this little tag 
56 


THE NEW TIME-CARD 

marked ‘ Number Four.’ Now what does that cord 
indicate? ” 

Allan, looking at the board, saw a line that ran 
roughly like this: 



(For complete time-table, see diagram facing page 60) 


“ Why,” he answered, after a moment, his eyes 
shining, “ the cord indicates the exact time that the 
train passes every station along the line.” 

“ Exactly,” assented Mr. Schofield. “ Now, just 
by way of illustration, we’ll put on a west-bound 
train next,” and he picked up the red ball. “ We’ll 
take Number Three. At what time does it leave 
Parkersburg? ” 

“ At 11.40 A. M.” 

“ So I drive the pin here. When does it reach 
Wadsworth ? ” 

“ At 2.20 P. M.” 

“ So the pin goes here. It stays there five min- 
utes, doesn’t it ? 


57 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


“ Yes — just like Number Four.” 

“ So another pin goes here. When does it reach 
Cincinnati ? ” 

“ At 5.35 p. m ” 

“ And here’s the fourth pin — and there’s your 
red string across the board, indicating Number 
Three. Now look at them.” 

Here is what Allan saw: 


Cincinnati 



Wadsworth 


Parkersburg ' 


© 

“ You notice the two strings cross at the 2.45 
line,” continued Mr. Schofield, “between Mussel- 
man and Roxabel. What does that mean ? ” 

“ It means the trains will meet there.” 

“ But they can’t meet out there on a single track. 
They’ve got to meet at a station where there’s a 
siding. So we’ve got to hold Number Three at 
Musselman three minutes until Number Four can 
get past — in other words, we’ve got to change the 
red string a little, like this,” and he drove another 
pin on the 2.42 line at Musselman, and tied the red 
string to it. “ That provides a meeting place for 
58 


THE NEW TIME-CARD 


those two trains. Now let’s go ahead with the 
others.” 

White strings representing all the east-bound 
passenger trains were put on the board in the same 
way. All of them ran more or less parallel with 
each other, the faster trains inclining more toward 
the perpendicular and the slower trains more 
toward the horizontal. To each string was at- 
tached a little tag bearing the number of the train, 
and that being done, the superintendent declared 
it was time to adjourn for lunch. 

An hour later, the work of stringing the west- 
bound passenger trains was taken up, the red cord 
being used to represent them. As they necessarily 
ran in the opposite direction, these strings crossed 
the strings representing the east-bound trains, and 
each of these crossings indicated a meeting-point. 
When the strings were first put on the board, it 
was found that many of them, as had been the case 
with those representing trains Three and Four, 
crossed between stations, and as it is against the 
rules of all railroading to permit two trains going 
in opposite directions to meet on the same track, 
the running time of the trains had to be so altered 
that the meetings occurred at a station, or at least 
at a place where there was a siding, so that one 
train could pull in out of the way of the other. The 
through passenger trains, which are given prefer- 
ence, were so timed that they could run from, end 
to end of the division without getting out of the 
59 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


way of anything; the accommodations usually had 
two or three short waits, but so carefully were these 
timed that their passengers would never notice it. 
In fact, wherever it was possible, the running time 
of the train was extended a few minutes, so that 
the delay would be only a minute or two. 

After all the passenger trains had been placed 
on the board and the meeting-points provided for, 
the freight trains were added. Meeting-points 
with the freight trains had also to be arranged, 
but this was comparatively easy, as it was simply 
a question of the freight heading in at the last 
siding it could reach in advance of the passenger, 
and then waiting for the passenger to go by. 

When every train had been placed on the board 
and every meeting-point provided for, the time at 
which every train arrived at and left every station 
was carefully noted down. 

“ And that’s done,” said Mr. Schofield, with a 
sigh of satisfaction. “ It’s a big job, and I’m 
mighty glad we won’t have to do it soon again. 
What do you think of it? ” 

“ It’s great,” Allan answered. “ Who thought 
it out?” 

“ I don’t know. It’s been in use for a long time 
— practically all roads ‘ string the chart,’ just as 
we have done. It’s the safest system that has ever 
been devised.” 

“ I don’t see how any could be safer,” said Allan. 


60 






On this chart only the more important trains are shown 


Dotted lines have been used t 



vhite cords, or east-bound trains, and solid lines to represent red cords, or west-bound trains 








































« 





THE NEW TIME-CARD 


“And I’m awfully glad you showed me how it 
works.” 

“ Oh, I’d do that, of course,” laughed the super- 
intendent. “ I want you to know everything there 
is to know about railroading. It will all come in 
handy some day. Now, I’ll turn these notes over 
to the printer, and we’ll have another bout when we 
get the proofs.” 

In a few days, the first proof of the new time- 
card was returned to Mr. Schofield, and he and 
Allan went over it carefully, comparing it with the 
chart to make certain that there was no error in 
figures and that every meeting-point was provided 
for. With the chart to go by, it was impossible that 
any meeting-point could be overlooked. A second 
proof was treated in the same way, and finally 
O. K’d. Then the time-cards were printed ; — not at 
all in the form with which the public is acquainted 
with them, but as large oblong pamphlets of twenty- 
four pages, — distributed to the road’s employees, 
and at twelve o’clock midnight on December 21st, 
the new card went into effect. All the public knew 
of it was a few lines in the newspapers announcing 
that this train or the other would arrive a few 
minutes later or earlier than it had been doing, and 
most people wondered, if they thought about it at 
all, why it had been necessary to get out a new 
time-card at all for changes so unimportant. 


61 


CHAPTER VI 


THE LITTLE CLOUD 

The installing of a new time-card is not so simple 
a thing as one might imagine. For that one night, 
every engineer and conductor has to bear in mind 
two schedules, the old one and the new one. For, 
though the new one goes into effect, technically, 
at midnight, it is, of course, impossible that it 
should do so in reality. A train, for instance, which 
started under the old schedule at 10.50 p. m. and 
which, under the new one, would start fifteen or 
twenty minutes earlier, could not, once it was out 
on the road, make up that time, so it was compelled 
to run by the old schedule until it had finished its 
trip, even though that carried it over the time after 
which the new schedule went into effect. In other 
words, every train which was on the road at mid- 
night, must continue under the old schedule until 
it reached its destination. 

So that night was always one of anxiety. Train- 
men, who often get mixed on a single schedule, are 
only too likely to do so on a double one ! 

It so happened, however, that the exciting events 
of that night were not due to forgetfulness, but to 
62 


THE LITTLE CLOUD 


a danger which no one could foresee or guard 
against, and which is, in consequence, one most 
feared by railroad men. And it developed the 
latent heroism in two men in a way which is still 
talked of on the rail, where these tales are passed 
on from mouth to mouth wherever trainmen con- 
gregate. 

The night was a cold and windy one, with a 
swirl of snow now and then, just sufficient to ob- 
scure the slippery track ahead, and yet not dense 
enough to cause the engineer to abandon in despair 
the task of trying to see what he was driving into. 
As a consequence, Engineer Jim Adams, pulling 
first section of through freight No. 98, had strained 
his eyes until they ached, in the effort to descry 
track and signals. More than once his hand had 
trembled on the throttle, as he fancied he saw an- 
other headlight gleaming through the mist ahead, 
but which, at the last instant, resolved itself into 
a reflection of his own. So when an unmistakable 
red glow did appear there, he waited an instant 
and batted his eyes savagely once or twice before 
he threw on the brakes. 

“ It's the Jones Run bridge ! ” yelled the front 
brakeman, who, perched on the fireman's seat, had 
seen the glare at the same instant. “ Git out o' 
here!" And jumping to the floor of the cab, he 
balanced himself an instant in the gangway and 
then sprang out into the darkness. 

The fireman took one look at the swirling flames 
63 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


ahead and followed him. Then the engineer, hav- 
ing set the brakes and closed the throttle, also leaped 
out into the darkness. But even as he leaped, he 
suddenly realized that the train had just impetus 
enough to carry it to the bridge. It would stop 
there, be consumed, and the loss to the company 
would be thousands and thousands of dollars. 

By a supreme effort, he landed on his feet, and 
then, running a step or two, managed to catch the 
hand-hold on the first freight car, as it passed him. 
In a minute, he had clambered up the ladder, over 
the coal in the tender and down into the cab again, 
where he released the brakes, opened the throttle 
wide, and started on a wild run for the bridge. In 
an instant, the flames were around him and he felt 
the bridge shake and sway, but it held, and the 
train crossed in safety. 

Meanwhile, back in the caboose, a strange scene 
was enacting. The brakeman and conductor, who 
had been cosily sleeping in their bunks, were sud- 
denly thrown out to the floor by a terrific impact, 
and every loose object seemed to be hurling itself 
toward the front end of the car. It took a minute 
for them to disentangle themselves and get to their 
feet again. Then they made a simultaneous rush 
for the door, just as the brakes were released and 
the train jerked forward again. The conductor 
opened the door and started to put his head out 
to see what was the matter, when he suddenly found 
himself surrounded by a swirl of flame. 

64 


THE LITTLE CLOUD 


“ Gosh all whittaker ! ” he yelled, and slammed 
the door shut again. Then he jumped for the box 
of fusees which every caboose carries. 

The brakeman, who was green, was too fright- 
ened even to be interested. Otherwise he would 
have seen the conductor jerk out two fusees, and 
then, opening the door again, drop off the train just 
as it cleared the bridge. He scrambled down the 
bank, and, holding the fusees high over his head, 
plunged into the icy water without an instant’s 
hesitation, and then, stopping only to light one of 
the fusees at a glowing ember, raced wildly away 
down the track, waving it above his head. For he 
had remembered the second section following close 
behind ; he knew that the bridge would be so weak- 
ened that another train could not cross it; feared 
that, in the swirling snow, the engineer might not 
see the flames until too late; and instantly took the 
only effective means to stop the oncoming train. 

Stop it he did, of course, and after making sure 
the bridge could not be saved, both trains flagged 
their way to the nearest stations to give word of 
the disaster. Ten hours later, a temporary bridge 
replaced the old one, and traffic was running as 
usual. 

An investigation of the cause of the fire followed 
a few days later, but nothing definite concerning 
it could be discovered. It might have started, as 
so many do, from ashes dropped from the fire-box 
of a passing train; or it might have been set on 
65 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 

fire by tramps, either by accident or design. Or- 
ders were at once sent in for an iron bridge to 
replace the wooden one, so that a repetition of the 
accident would be impossible. 

One thing, however, resulted from the investi- 
gation — the indication of possible carelessness on 
the part of another engineer. Half an hour before 
the first section of ninety-eight had passed, the 
evening accommodation had crossed the bridge. It 
seemed impossible that the fire should have got such 
a headway in that time, and the presumption 
strongly was that the bridge was on fire when the 
passenger train crossed it, and that the engineer was 
not attending to his duties, or he would have seen 
it. The fireman, engaged in shovelling coal into the 
fire-box, and blinded by . the glare of the flames, 
would probably not have noticed it, and on a pas- 
senger train no brakeman rides in the cab; but it 
could not have escaped the eyes of the engineer if 
he had been watching the tracks. It was, of course, 
possible that he had seen it, but had not stopped 
his train or given warning through some motive of 
hate or personal revenge; and inquiry, indeed, de- 
veloped the fact that there was a bitter quarrel of 
long standing between him and Jim Adams, the 
engineer of first ninety-eight — but this may have 
been merely a coincidence. 

At any rate, Mr. Plumfield hesitated to think that 
any man would have passed the fire from such a 
motive, and preferred to believe that the engineer 
66 


THE LITTLE CLOUD 


of the accommodation had merely been remiss. 
The engineer, a burly fellow named Rafe Bassett, 
stoutly denied that this was the case, and declared 
that he had noticed the bridge especially and that 
it was all right. 

Something in his demeanour, however, aroused 
Mr. Plumfield’s suspicions. Bassett was perhaps a 
trifle too emphatic in his denials. At any rate, he 
was suspended without pay. 

The day after this happened, Mr. Schofield 
paused beside the train master’s desk. 

“ What was the trouble with Bassett, George? ” 
he asked. 

“ Well, I can’t say, exactly,” answered Mr. Plum- 
field. “ But he struck me as being not altogether 
on the square. You know he’s been in trouble be- 
fore,” and he brought out the little red book. 

Mr. Schofield nodded. 

“ Yes, I know,” he said. “ Pm afraid this is 
going to make trouble,” he added, after a moment. 
“ You know Bassett is a great brotherhood man, 
and is one of those big-mouthed agitators who are 
always talking about the wrongs of labour. His 
lodge is calling a special meeting to-night to con- 
sider his case.” 

“ Is it?” asked Mr. Plumfield, grimly. “Well, 
I suppose there’ll be a grievance committee to wait 
on me in the morning.” 

And there was. Scarcely had he seated himself 
at his desk next day, when three engineers, cap in 
67 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 

hand, appeared at the door and requested an audi- 
ence. 

“All right, boys; come in,” said the train mas- 
ter. “ What’s the trouble? ” 

“ It’s about Bassett,” explained the spokesman. 
“ He’s laid off, I hear.” 

“ Yes,” said the train master. “ Laid off till fur- 
ther notice.” 

“What for?” asked the spokesman. 

Mr. Plumfield hesitated. It was rather difficult 
to formulate the charge against Bassett. 

“ For knowing more about the burning of the 
Jones Run bridge the other night than he’s willing 
to tell.” 

“ Do you mean he set it on fire ? ” inquired one 
of the men, incredulously. 

“ Oh, no; but I think he ran past it after it was 
on fire and didn’t stop to put it out, as he should 
have done.” 

“ Does Bassett admit it? ” 

“ No, of course not.” 

“ Why should he run past the fire? ” 

“ Maybe he was asleep and didn’t see it.” 

“ And have you any evidence ? ” 

“ None but his manner,” answered Mr. Plumfield 
frankly. 

“ Well,” said the spokesman, twirling his cap in 
his hands, “ all I can say is that that’s mighty poor 
evidence, it seems to me. We had a meetin’ at the 
lodge last night, and we was appointed a commit- 
68 


THE LITTLE CLOUD 

tee to see you and demand that Bassett be rein- 
stated at once.” 

“ All right,” said Mr. Plumfield, “ I’ll consider 
it.” 

“ And when can we have our answer ? ” 

“ This afternoon at three o’clock,” answered the 
train master sharply. 

“ All right, sir,” said the spokesman of the com- 
mittee, and the three men filed out. 

Mr. Plumfield looked over at Allan, after a mo- 
ment, with a little laugh. 

“ I’m afraid those fellows have got me,” he said. 
“ Pm morally convinced that Bassett’s crooked, but 
there’s no way to prove it. Pm afraid I’ll have 
to back down. I made a mistake in suspending him 
in the first place, but the man’s manner irritated 
me. 

And so, that afternoon, when the committee re- 
appeared, it was informed that Bassett had been 
reinstated as requested. 

They filed out with ill-concealed triumph on 
their faces, and Mr. Plumfield felt uncomfortably 
that his mistake had been a serious one. In gain- 
ing a victory, Bassett had enthroned himself more 
firmly than ever in the confidence of his associates. 

Three hours later, in the dusk of the early win- 
ter evening, Mr. Plumfield left his office and started 
toward his home. As he crossed the tracks, and 
came opposite a saloon which occupied the corner 
nearest the station, the door suddenly swung open 
69 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


and two or three men stumbled out. They were 
talking loudly, and as they came under the glare 
of the street lamps, Mr. Plumfield saw that one of 
them was Bassett. The engineer saw him at the 
same moment. 

“ Why, here’s the train master,” he cried, lurch- 
ing forward. “ Well, so ye had t’ crawfish, didn’t 
ye, me bird ? An’ well fer ye ye did ! ” 

“ Bassett,” said Mr. Plumfield, quietly, “ you’re 
drunk. Take care, or you’ll get a dose a good deal 
worse than the last one.” 

“ Oh, I will, will I ? ” cried Bassett, coming 
closer. “ Well, you jest try it! You jest try it! ” 
“ All right,” said Mr. Plumfield. “You don’t 
need to report any more. You’re not in the employ 
of the P. & O. any longer.” 

“ Ain’t I? ” cried Bassett. “ Well, we’ll see what 
the boys say to that ! You heerd this, boys — ” 
But without waiting to hear more, Mr. Plum- 
field went on his way. This time, he felt, he would 
have to stick to his decision, no matter what hap- 
pened. And he felt, too, that he was right. 


70 


CHAPTER VII 


A THREAT FROM MR. NIXON 

The storm was not long in bursting. Again 
there was a special meeting of the lodge; again a 
grievance committee waited on Mr. Plumfield, but 
it met a very different reception from that which 
had been given the former one. 

“ I have just one thing to tell you,” he said, when 
he had listened to their complaint, “ and that is 
that Rafe Bassett will never be given a job on this 
road while Pm train master. He was drunk the 
other night, and you know it.” 

“ He denies it,” said the chairman of the com- 
mittee. “ He admits he’d had a glass or two of 
beer, but that ain’t a penitentiary offence.” 

“ Especially when a man ain’t on duty,” chimed 
in another. 

“ And he says he thought he was still sus- 
pended,” chimed in a third, “ and he supposed he 
could do as he pleased.” 

“ He didn’t think anything of the sort,’’ said 
Mr. Plumfield, sharply. “ The first words he said 
to me were that I’d had to crawfish. So he knew 
he’d been re-instated. But he’ll never be re-instated 
again.” 


71 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


“ Are them your last words, Mr. Plumfield?” 
inquired one of his auditors, ominously. 

“ Yes, they’re my last words,” retorted the train 
master, and turned to his work, while the commit- 
tee filed out. 

He foresaw, of course, what would happen, but 
he felt that to re-instate Bassett would for ever 
destroy discipline among the men under him. He 
stated the case to Mr. Schofield, and that official 
agreed with him that Bassett could never be re- 
instated, but that the matter must be fought out to 
a finish. 

Hostilities were not long in commencing. The 
local lodge made a report — more or less biased 
— of the occurrence to the general officials of the 
order, and one of the latter came posthaste to the 
scene. A day or two later, Mr. Schofield received 
the following letter: 

“ Wadsworth, Ohio, January 16, 190 — 

“ Mr. R. E. Schofield, 

“ Superintendent Ohio Division , 

“ P. & O. Railway. 

“ Dear Sir: — As a representative of the Grand 
Lodge of the Independent Order of Railway Engi- 
neers, I ask a conference with you at the earliest 
possible moment. 

“ Yours truly, 

“ H. F. Nixon, 

“ Special Delegate ” 


72 


A THREAT FROM MR. NIXON 


Mr. Schofield answered at once, setting the con- 
ference for next day and asking both Mr. Plumfield 
and Allan to be present. For he desired some wit- 
nesses of the interview. 

Nixon showed up promptly at the appointed time. 
He was a heavy-set man with a red face and big 
black moustache. He wore a sweeping fur over- 
coat, and, when he drew off his gloves, a big seal 
ring with diamond settings was visible upon the lit- 
tle finger of his right hand. Mr. Schofield greeted 
him courteously, invited him to take off his over- 
coat and sit down, and then stepped to the door. 

“ Bob/’ he called to his office boy, “ ask Mr. 
Plumfield and Mr. West to step this way at once, 
will you? ” 

Nixon, who had thrown his overcoat across a 
chair and got out a big black cigar, paused with it 
halfway to his lips. 

“ Not calling the company for me, are you? ” he 
asked. 

“ Why, yes,” said the superintendent, quietly. 
“ You’ve come about the Bassett business, haven’t 
you?” 

Nixon nodded. 

“ Well, Mr. Plumfield is the one with whom 
Bassett had the trouble. I thought you’d like to 
hear his story.” 

“ Oh, all right,” said Nixon, sitting down and 
lighting his cigar. “ Only I know the story al- 
ready.” 


73 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


“ Maybe you’ve only heard one side of it,” sug- 
gested Mr. Schofield, smiling. 

“ Well, maybe I have,” assented Nixon, and 
when Mr. Plumfield and Allan entered, he greeted 
them with a fair degree of cordiality. 

“ And now, Mr. Plumfield,” said the superin- 
tendent, when the introductions were over, “ I wish 
you would tell Mr. Nixon exactly what happened 
between you and Bassett.” 

So the train master told the story of his encounter 
with the drunken engineer, while Nixon sat back 
in his chair puffing his cigar meditatively, and nod- 
ding from time to time. 

“ You know, of course,” he said, when Mr. 
Plumfield had finished, “ that Bassett denies he was 
drunk, and so do the boys who were with him. He 
admits that he’d had a glass or two of beer, but 
there’s nothing against that, is there, when a man’s 
off duty? ” 

“ There’s a rule against the use of intoxicants,” 
replied the superintendent, slowly, “ and against a 
man’s being impudent on duty or off.” 

“ And there’s no prospect of your taking Bassett 
back?” asked Nixon. 

“ Not the slightest,” answered Mr. Schofield. 

“I suppose you know what that means?” in- 
quired Nixon, blowing out a puff of smoke and 
gazing at it with half-closed eyes, as it floated 
slowly upwards. 

“ What does it mean? ” 


74 


A THREAT FROM MR. NIXON 

“ It means a strike.” 

“ Is the brotherhood as foolish as all that ? ” 

“ The brotherhood is bound to protect the in- 
terests of all its members.” 

“ Even those who don’t deserve it ? ” 

“ The brotherhood must decide who’s worthy 
and who’s not. It can’t let outsiders do it.” 

“ Well, all right,” said Mr. Schofield. “ It’s up 
to you. I guess we can get some more engi- 
neers.” 

“ Oh, you’ll need more than engineers,” said 
Nixon, easily. “ You’ll need firemen and brake- 
men and conductors and switchmen — the whole 
force, in fact.” 

The superintendent sat staring at his visitor, his 
brows knitted. 

“You mean they’ll strike in sympathy?” he 
asked, at last. 

“ Exactly,” and Nixon smiled blandly. 

“ What kind of fools are railroad men any- 
how ? ” 

“ I’ll tell you how it is,” said Nixon. “ Railroad 
men realize that they’ve got to stand together. You 
remember those spell-binders who used to go around 
hollering ‘ My country, right or wrong!’ Well, 
that’s our principle. Besides, the time’s ripe for a 
strike.” 

“ What do you mean by that? ” 

“ I mean there hasn’t been a real strike for some 
time an’ the boys are ready for a little excitement 
75 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 

You see, we’ve found a better way than strikin’, 
but not half so interestin’.” 

“ I think I know what you mean,” said Mr. Scho- 
field, slowly. 

“ Yes — I guess you do. We’ve found out that 
we can get legislatures to pass most any law we 
want. It’s different from the old days, when the 
railroads carried the legislatures in their pockets. 
The pendulum’s swung the other way. Now it’s 
as much as a man’s life’s worth to vote for a rail- 
road measure or against one that railroad em- 
ployees ask for. So things come our way easy. 
Besides, that anti-pass law has hurt you bad.” 

“ Yes, it has,” Mr. Schofield agreed, with a grim 
smile. 

“ It was a mighty cheap and convenient way of 
buyin’ influence,” continued Nixon. “ For a thou- 
sand or two miles of mileage, you got seven-eighths 
of the legislatures without further expense. They 
didn’t consider it takin’ a bribe. Now even money 
won’t do the trick. You’re up a tree.” 

“ Yes, we are,” agreed the superintendent, “ un- 
til the pendulum swings back again. You fellows 
are too eager. You’re killing the goose.” 

“ Well, I guess we’ll get our share of the eggs,” 
grinned Nixon. “ Have you heard of the latest? ” 

“ The latest?” 

“ The caboose bill? ” 

“ No,” said Mr. Schofield. “ What’s that? ” 

“ Well,” said Nixon, chuckling to himself, " the 
76 


A THREAT FROM MR. NIXON 

railroads, as you know, never waste a thought on 
the comfort or safety of their employees — ” 

“ No, of course not,” agreed Mr. Schofield, iron- 
ically. 

“ All they think of is earnings an’ big salaries 
for the officers. One of the most inhuman afflic- 
tions which freight conductors and brakemen have 
to put up with in modern times is the caboose. 
Have you ever ridden in a caboose? ” 

“ Hundreds of times ! ” 

“ Oh, I forgot,” said Nixon, grinning, “ I 
thought I was addressin’ the legislature. I was 
goin’ to paint for them the torture of ridin’ in a 
caboose, the impossibility of sleepin’ there; how a 
few years of it wrecks a man’s health, and so 
forth.” 

“ I see you’re a good hand at fancy pictures,” 
said the superintendent, drily. 

“ A man has to be to hold my job,” said Nixon, 
with a broad grin. “ But, cuttin’ all that out, the 
bill compels the railroads to use no caboose less ’n 
forty feet in length. The berths must be comfort- 
able an’ sanitary, with the sheets changed every 
trip. There must be all the toilet conveniences — ” 

“ Why not compel us to hitch a Pullman to every 
freight train, with porter and everything com- 
plete ? ” inquired the superintendent. 

“ Oh, no,” protested Nixon, waving his hand. 
“ We’re reasonable. We don’t want anything but 
our rights.” 


77 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


Mr. Schofield’s face was flushed and he opened 
his lips for an angry retort, but thought better of 
it and closed them again. Then he laughed. 

“ All right,” he said. “ Go ahead. Kill the 
goose. But were you serious about that strike ? ” 

“ Never more serious in my life.” 

“ When will it be called?” 

“ When I give the word,” said Nixon, “ not be- 
fore.” 

And he cast at the superintendent a glance full 
of meaning. 

The latter stared at him, then down at his desk, 
drumming with absent fingers. 

“ Well,” he said, at last, looking up, “ don’t call 
it for a couple of days. I’ll have to ask instruc- 
tions from headquarters.” 

“ All right,” agreed Nixon, rising and slipping 
into his coat. “ Let me see — this is Wednesday. 
I’ll come in Friday morning at this time for your 
answer. How’ll that suit ? ” 

Mr. Schofield nodded curtly, and with a bland 
wave of the hand to the others, Nixon went to the 
door and let himself out. 

The superintendent gazed moodily at the closed 
door for a moment, then he rose and walked to the 
window and stared down over the yards. 

“ Well,” he said at last, turning back to the 
others, “ there are three courses open.” 

“ Three?” repeated Mr. Plumfield, in evident 
surprise. 


78 


A THREAT FROM MR. NIXON 

“ Yes, three. In the first place, we can back 
down and re-instate Bassett.’" 

“ Yes.” 

“ In the second place, we can refuse to do it and 
fight it out.” 

“ Yes.” 

“ And in the third place we can avoid either.” 

“ How?” 

“ By bribing Nixon.” 

“ Bribing Nixon? ” 

“ Yes. You heard him say that there wouldn’t 
be any strike until he called it? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ But you didn’t see how he looked at me when 
he said it. If ever a man invited a bribe, without 
putting the invitation in so many words, he did. 
A thousand dollars would do it.” 

“ But you won’t offer it ! ” cried Allan eagerly. 
“ You won’t do that! ” 

“ No,” said Mr. Schofield, smiling as he looked 
at the flushed face. “ I won’t do it. I’m going to 
advise a fight. But the decision doesn’t rest with 
me. I’ll have to go to Cincinnati in the morning 
and take it up with the general manager.” 

“ But to give a bribe — ” Allan began. 

“ Sounds bad, doesn’t it? And yet I don’t think 
the general manager will waste much time thinking 
about the moral side of it. That’s not what he’s 
there for. He's there to work for the best interests 
of the road. A strike is sure to cost us a good 
79 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 

many times a thousand dollars — how many times 
nobody can tell till it’s over. Which is best for the 
road ? ” 

Allan’s head was whirling. After all, there was 
truth in what Mr. Schofield said. The only ques- 
tion for the general manager to consider was just 
that — what was best for the road. 

Mr. Schofield turned from the window and 
looked at him again. 

“ I tell you what,” he said, suddenly, “ I’d like 
to have you go along. Will you? ” 

“ Go along?” 

“ And hear the other side of it. It’ll do you 
good, and maybe it’ll do us good to have you,” he 
added. 

“ I’ll be glad to,” answered Allan, his face flush- 
ing suddenly, and hastened back to his desk to get 
things in shape so that he could be absent on the 
morrow. 


80 


CHAPTER VIII 


MR. ROUND’S DECISION 

And so it happened that Allan arose next morn- 
ing about two hours earlier than usual, in order to 
catch the five o’clock train for Cincinnati. It re- 
minded him of the far-off days when he was taking 
his trick of track-walking in the early morning. 
As he came down the stairs, he saw a yellow band 
of light under the kitchen door, and he heard some- 
body clattering about within. He opened the door 
to find Mary already busy with the kitchen stove. 

“ Why, Allan,” she said, “ what’ re ye doin’ up 
so early ? ” 

“ I’ve got to go to Cincinnati on Number One,” 
he answered. “ I’ll be back on Two to-night.” 

“ Why didn’t ye tell me last night ? ” she de- 
manded. “ I’d ’a’ had your breakfast ready.” 

“ I know you would,” Allan answered, looking at 
the patient, kindly face. “ That’s the reason I 
didn’t say anything. I’ll get breakfast on the diner. 
Good-bye,” and snatching up hat and overcoat, he 
was off. 

He reached the station just as the train was pull- 
ing in and found Mr. Schofield awaiting him. To- 
81 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


gether they clambered into the Pullman and took 
their seats in the smoking compartment. 

It was still quite dark, but a faint band of gray 
over the hills to the east told that the dawn was not 
far distant. The train rolled out of the yards, 
through the deserted streets, along the embankment 
by the dark river, past the twin bridges spanning 
canal and highway at the city limits, up the long 
grade that led to the slate cut, through the cut, 
over the bridge spanning the deep ravine beyond, 
and so on toward Cincinnati. For some time, 
neither Allan nor Mr. Schofield spoke, but sat si- 
lently staring out of the window, for every foot 
of the way had some association for them. It was 
that embankment which they had laboured so hard 
to save in time of flood, when the mighty current 
of the river was slowly seeping over it; it was in 
that cut that Allan had encountered Reddy Ma- 
graw, half crazed, one wild night; it was from the 
bridge beyond that a gang of wreckers had at- 
tempted to hurl the pay-car. How familiar it all 
was — how near, and yet how far away, those days 
seemed ! 

Then, as the dawn lightened, a tousle-headed man 
came in, coat, collar and shoes in hand, and made 
a hasty toilet. 

“ Couldn’t sleep a wink last night,” he said, when 
he had got his hands and face washed, his collar 
on and his tie tied. “ This road certainly has got 
’em all beat for curves.” 


82 


MR. ROUND’S DECISION 


“ It does wind a little as it comes through the 
mountains,” agreed Mr. Schofield, smiling. 

“Wind!” exclaimed the stranger. “It cork- 
screws ! ” 

“ You see, it has to follow the streams,” ex- 
plained the superintendent. 

“ Well, the streams must ’a’ been drunk when 
they struck out their path, then. Well, well,” he 
added, glancing through the window at the frost- 
whitened fields, “ that’s the first time I’ve seen any 
frost for two years.” 

“ Where’ ve you been ? ” inquired Mr. Schofield. 

“ Down at Panama. I run an engine on the 
Isthmus railroad.” 

“Do you?” and Mr. Schofield looked at him 
with interest. “ How are things getting along down 
there?” 

“ The dirt is certainly flying some. But it’s an 
almighty big job we’ve tackled.” 

“ Oh, by the way,” Mr. Schofield added, “ there 
used to be a brakeman on this road named Guy 
Kirk, who went to Panama about a year and a half 
ago. Did you ever hear of him? ” 

“ Hear of him? I guess I did. He’s a conduc- 
tor, now, freight, and everybody thinks a whole 
lot of him. And he gets around mighty lively con- 
siderin’ what he went through.” 

“ Went through ? How do you mean ? ” 

“ Well, sir,” said the stranger, getting out a 
darkly-coloured brier and filling it from a red- 
83 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


leather pouch, “ it was this way. There’s a mighty 
mean grade going down into Ancon — mighty 
mean. It’s steep and it’s got a sharp curve at the 
bottom. It’s pretty ticklish getting down some- 
times, especially when the rails are slippery and 
the road-bed squashy after one of them heavy trop- 
ical rains. One night a heavy freight, on which 
Kirk was front brakeman, started down that grade. 
The engineer threw on his air, but there wasn’t any, 
and the first thing he knowed they were scootin’ 
down that grade at forty miles an hour. The engi- 
neer whistled five or six times to warn the crew 
in the caboose and then he and his fireman jumped.” 

“ And what did Kirk do ? ” asked Mr. Schofield, 
deeply interested. 

“ Well, sir,” answered the narrator, slowly ex- 
haling a long puff, “ Kirk didn’t jump. Instead 
o’ that, he hustled out on that train an’ began to 
set the hand-brakes. The first eight or ten cars 
were full of nut coal. Kirk only got about two 
brakes set, when the train hit the curve. The rails 
spread, o’ course ; Kirk hit the ground first an’ the 
ten cars o’ nut coal piled up on top of him. No- 
body ever expected to see him alive again, but when 
they dug the coal off, blamed if there he didn’t set 
in a kind o’ little hut the cars had made over him 
as they fell. Only both his legs was caught below 
the knee an’ broke so bad that they never did get 
quite straight again. But it wasn’t long after that 
he got his promotion.” 


84 


MR. ROUND’S DECISION 


Other occupants of the sleeper had come in while 
the story was in progress, and a few minutes later 
came the first call to breakfast. Allan, at least, 
was ready for it, and he and Mr. Schofield lost no 
time in seeking the diner. 

Perhaps no other one improvement in railway 
service has added as much to the comfort and con- 
venience of the travelling public as has this, which 
enables the passengers on any first class train to 
eat their meals at leisure, when they want them, 
and to procure well-cooked and appetizing food, 
temptingly served amid pleasant surroundings. It 
is not so many years since the passenger was de- 
pendent for his food either on such supplies as he 
had brought with him, or upon hasty lunches in 
dirty depot dining-rooms, where the cold and un- 
pleasant food was bolted in fear and trembling lest 
the train puffing outside pull away. Not that the 
proprietors of the dining-rooms themselves were 
wholly to blame for this condition, for they never 
knew how many customers they were going to 
have, trains were often late, fifteen or twenty min- 
utes was the utmost time allowed for a meal by 
the management of any road, and not more than 
half of that was available for actual eating, while 
to keep free from soot and smoke and cinders a 
dining-room in a depot building was a task beyond 
human ingenuity. 

After the meal, Mr. Schofield led the way to the 
rear of the diner, where, from the platform, they 
85 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 

could watch the track spinning backwards from 
under them. 

“ Notice the absence of dust,” he said, and, in- 
deed, as the train swept onward, there was prac- 
tically no dust behind it. “ We’ve accomplished 
that by washing the gravel before we use it as bal- 
last, instead of dumping it in just as it comes from 
the gravel-pit, as we used to do. It only costs about 
half a cent a yard to wash it, and it makes it as 
clean as crushed stone.” 

“ It certainly makes it a lot cleaner back here,” 
remarked the man in charge of the dining-car. 
“ We can keep the back door open now. The only 
time we have to shut it,” he added, suiting the 
action to the word, “ is when we pass the stock- 
yards. Nobody can enjoy a meal with that scent 
blowing in upon them.” 

The stock-yards consisted of long rows of flimsy 
frame buildings, lining either side of the tracks for 
perhaps half a mile just outside of Cincinnati. 
Here the thousands and thousands of steers, hogs, 
and sheep shipped in from the west were loaded 
and unloaded. Narrow runways led from the pens 
up to the level of the freight-car doors, and up and 
down these, incoming or outgoing stock was con- 
stantly ascending or descending, urged by prods in 
the hands of the stock-yard men. It was not a 
pleasant sight, and our two friends contemplated 
it silently as the train sped past. 

“ Man has a good deal to answer for in this 

36 


MR. ROUND’S DECISION 

world,” remarked Mr. Schofield, “ and I some- 
times think he’ll be called to account pretty severely 
for the suffering of those poor steers. They are 
bred out on the prairies, you know, are left abso- 
lutely shelterless in winter and freeze or starve to 
death by thousands. Those that manage to survive, 
are crowded into the stock-cars and shipped east. 
There’s a law requiring that they be fed and wa- 
tered every so often, and that they be taken out of 
the cars after so long a time. But there’s nobody 
to enforce the law, and it’s pretty generally disre- 
garded. It’s always been a wonder to me that the 
stock reaches the eastern markets at all.” 

“ What can be done about it? ” asked Allan, so- 
berly. 

“ The railroads can’t do anything. But the gov- 
ernment could compel all stockmen to furnish ade- 
quate shelter and food for their stock in winter, 
and the torture of this long-distance shipping could 
be avoided if the big slaughter-houses were out in 
the stock-raising district, so that only the meat need 
be shipped. Do you remember,” he added, after a 
moment, “ in Bellamy’s ‘ Looking Backward,’ how 
incomprehensible and repulsive the thought of flesh- 
eating had become? Well, I believe Bellamy was 
right. Already there is a rapidly growing feeling 
against meat-eating, and the day is not so very 
far distant when it will be practically abolished. 
And a good thing, too.” 

The train had run under the great train-shed, as 
87 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


they were talking, and five minutes later, Mr. Scho- 
field and Allan were shown into the office of Gen- 
eral Manager Round. It was a plainly- furnished, 
business-like room, typical of the man who occu- 
pied it — a man who had risen from the ranks and 
who had endeared himself to every man under him 
by justice, kindness and square-dealing. 

“How are you, boys?” he said, shaking hands 
with both of them heartily. “ Glad to see you. Sit 
down. Now, Ed, what’s this I hear about a 
strike? ” 

“ Well,” said Mr. Schofield, “ it looks a good 
deal like we were going to have one.” 

“ Let’s have the story,” said Mr. Round, settling 
back in his chair, and he listened with half-closed 
eyes while Mr. Schofield told the story of the 
trouble with Bassett and the interview with Nixon. 

“And you really think there’ll be a strike?” he 
asked, when Mr. Schofield had finished. 

“Of course Nixon may have been bluffing,” 
answered the latter slowly, “ but I don’t believe it. 
I think there’ll be a strike, unless — ” 

“ Unless what? ” asked Mr. Round, as the super- 
intendent paused. 

“ Well, we can reinstate Bassett.” 

“,No, we can’t,” said Mr. Round. “We can’t 
reinstate Bassett and preserve any discipline on this 
division. So* count that out.” 

“ I agree with you, of course,” said Mr. Scho- 
field. “ There’s a second course open.” 

88 


MR. ROUND’S DECISION 


“ What is it?” 

“ We can bribe Nixon.” 

“ You think he’s bribable?” 

“ I know he is.” 

“ And what’s his price? ” 

“ I don’t know that exactly. But I should say 
about a thousand dollars. Of course, a general 
strike would cost us a great deal more than that.” 

Mr. Round nodded. Then he happened to glance 
at Allan West’s burning face. 

“ What do you think about it, Allan ? ” he asked. 

“ I wouldn’t bribe a man if it kept the road from 
being tied up for a year,” answered Allan, impet- 
uously. “ Besides, you’re not really helping mat- 
ters — the thing will have to be fought out sooner 
or later. Let’s fight it out now. We’ll get our 
trains through in spite of them. We’ll have the law 
back of us.” 

“ The law isn’t much of a protection,” remarked 
Mr. Round. “ It doesn’t so much prevent crime, 
as punish it. And it isn’t much of a compensation 
to a railroad, after it has had two or three hundred 
thousand dollars’ worth of property destroyed, to 
have the fellows who did it sent to jail. Besides, 
what’s the use of being so horror-stricken at the 
idea of bribery? We’re always giving or taking 
bribes. When you tipped the waiter in the diner 
this morning, you bribed him to give you better 
service than he gave the other people he was serv- 
in g. 


89 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


“ I didn’t tip him,” said Allan, smiling, “ and 
that was just the reason. I agree with you that 
tipping is petty bribery, and diminishes the self- 
respect of both the giver and receiver.” 

“ You’ve hit it,” approved Mr. Round. “ To 
give a bribe diminishes one’s self-respect. But has 
a corporation like a railroad any self-respect? ” 

“ It ought to have.” 

“ Most people seem to think it hasn’t even com- 
mon honesty, because it has had to fight with such 
weapons as came to hand. Good Lord ! does any- 
body suppose the railroads wanted to give passes 
and contribute to campaign funds, and maintain 
a lobby, and pay bribes? But they couldn’t get 
what they wanted any other way ! ” 

Allan smiled. 

“ Sometimes they wanted things they hadn’t any 
business with,” he said, “ and they’re suffering for 
it now. But I guess they’ll pull through. The 
public will see after a while that they’re not so black 
as they’re painted. And right here’s a chance to 
keep this one clean.” 

Again Mr. Round nodded. Then he wheeled his 
chair around and for some moments sat staring 
thoughtfully out of the window. Then he wheeled 
sharply back. 

“ Schofield,” he said, “ you tell Nixon to go 
ahead and call a strike, if he wants to.” 


90 


CHAPTER IX 


A BUBBLE BURSTS 

Allan was on his feet, his eyes shining'. 

“ That’s great! ” he said. “ That’s great.” 

Mr. Round motioned him to sit down again. 

“ It isn’t altogether on high moral grounds I’m 
deciding this way,” he said. “ It’s because I don’t 
think a strike, starting from such a fool cause, will 
hurt us. I think it will help us. We need public 
sympathy and public confidence. The public has 
been weaned away from us by a lot of muck-rakers. 
Here’s a chance to get it back. And now, Ed,” 
he added, “ you’ve got to make a grand-stand play.” 

“ All right,” agreed Mr. Schofield. “ What is 
it?” 

“ You’ve got to bribe Nixon.” 

“ Bribe Nixon?” 

“ And show him up.” 

A light broke over Mr. Schofield’s face. 

“ Oh ! ” he said. “ I see.” 

“ You and I will talk it over,” said Mr. Round. 
“ But it’s lunch time,” he added, looking at his 
watch. “ Of course you’re coming with me.” 

So the three went out to lunch together, and for 
91 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 

a time forgot the cares of railroading. Only once 
was the road referred to. 

“ I’ve got to see Mr. Heywood before I go back, ,, 
Mr. Schofield remarked. “ There’s one or two lit- 
tle matters I want to take up with him.” 

Mr. Round’s face darkened. 

“ You won’t see him to-day,” he said. 

“ Why not?” questioned Mr. Schofield. 

“ The fact of the matter is,” said Mr. Round, 
after a moment’s hesitation, “ Heywood hasn’t been 
at his office for three days.” 

“ Hum ! ” said Mr. Schofield, his face darkening 
too. “ Has it got that bad ? I’d heard stories, of 
course, but I’d hoped they were exaggerated.” 

“ He’s been getting worse and worse, and I don’t 
believe he’ll hold his job much longer. He may be 
let down easy, because he’s been a good man — 
and he’d be a good man yet if he could let drink 
alone. But it’s getting more and more hold on him 
all the time. He knows it and is ashamed of it, 
but he don’t seem to have strength enough to break 
away from it. It’s too bad.” 

“ Yes, it is,” agreed Mr. Schofield. “ What I 
hate about it most is the humiliation his daughter 
must suffer. I don’t know whether you knew her 
or not — Betty Heywood — but she was a mighty 
nice girl.” 

“ No, I didn’t know her,” said Mr. Round. 
“ But she seems to have saved herself. I heard 
the other day that she was going to get married.” 

92 


A BUBBLE BURSTS 


Allan’s heart bounded suddenly, and his face red- 
dened, but neither of his companions noticed his 
agitation. 

“ That’s a good thing,” said Mr. Schofield. 
“ Who’s the man ? ” 

“ I don’t remember his name,” answered Mr. 
Round. “ I heard some of the boys talking about 
it the other day — of course there may be nothing 
in it.” 

“ Well, I hope it’s so,” remarked the other. “ It 
would solve a mighty unpleasant situation. Now, 
I’m going to turn you loose for the afternoon, 
Allan,” he added. “ Meet me in time to catch 
Number Two and we’ll have dinner together on the 
diner.” 

“ Very well, sir,” said Allan, welcoming the op- 
portunity to be alone with his thoughts. “ I’ll be 
there.” 

He walked slowly up the street, seeing nothing 
of the busy life about him, turning over and over 
in his mind the bit of gossip which Mr. Round had 
repeated. Could it be true, he wondered. Suppose 
it were, what would it mean to him? It had been 
years since he had seen Betty Heywood; it was 
very probable that the girl whose image lived in 
his heart was very different from the reality. At 
any rate, it was absurd to suppose that she would 
have anything more than the faintest of remem- 
brances of the boy she had befriended in years gone 
by. 


93 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


Shaking such thoughts away, at last, he consid- 
ered for a moment where he should spend the after- 
noon. He decided in favour of the Art Museum, 
and boarding a car, started on the long, beautiful 
ride to Eden Park. The route carried him up one 
of the long inclines, which are a unique feature of 
Cincinnati’s street railway system. The city proper 
is built in the valley along the river, and is sur- 
rounded by hills two or three hundred feet in 
height, where the most exclusive residence sections 
are. These are reached by inclines, where the cars 
are hoisted and lowered by means of massive wire 
cables. 

As the car rose slowly up the incline, Cincinnati 
lay spread below him, a charming city, marred only 
by the haze of coal smoke which a too-indulgent 
city government made little effort to suppress. 
Half an hour later, he was at his destination and 
entered the museum, whose collection of paintings, 
statuary and other works of art is one of the most 
famous in the middle west. He spent a most en- 
joyable hour wandering from room to room, and 
was about ready to go, when, in one of the far 
galleries, he noticed a woman at work before an 
easel, and, strolling nearer, saw that she was ma- 
king a copy of one of the larger paintings. He 
was about to turn away, fearing that he was in- 
truding, when she glanced up and saw him. 

“ Why, Allan West,” she cried, and started up, 
hand out-stretched, and he saw that it was Betty 
94 


A BUBBLE BURSTS 

Heywood. “ It is Allan West, isn’t it? ” she asked, 
as he stood for an instant chained to the spot. 

“ It certainly is,” he answered, clasping the wel- 
coming hand. “ But I didn’t expect to see you 
here.” 

“ Nor I to see you,” she broke in. “ What has 
a train-dispatcher to do with picture galleries ? ” 

“ Mighty little, I’m sorry to say. I didn’t know 
you were an artist ! ” 

“ I’m not,” she said, laughing merrily. “ I’m 
only a copyist. What do you think of it?” she 
added, with a gesture toward the picture on the 
easel. 

Allan gazed at it with unfeigned admiration, 
though to a more critical eye, its shortcomings 
would have been evident enough. 

“ It’s fine,” he said. “ It’s splendid ! Where did 
you learn how ? ” 

Again she laughed, though her cheeks flushed a 
little at his praise. 

“ I’ve been working at it for a long time,” she 
said. “ But don’t deceive yourself — it isn’t a work 
of art — it’s merely a pot-boiler.” 

“ A what?” 

“ A pot-boiler — designed, in other words, not 
for fame, but to furnish food and raiment. But, 
come,” she added, “ I’ve worked enough for one 
day and I need some fresh air. Will you come 
along? ” 

“ I certainly will ! ” he said, his face lighting, and 

95 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


he watched her while she stowed her paints away 
in a box, giving them, together with the easel and 
the unfinished painting, into the care of one of the 
attendants. 

“ Now wait till I get my hat and coat,” she said, 
“ and off we go.” 

She was back in a few moments, her piquant 
face set off by a most becoming toque, and her 
painting apron replaced by a long wrap. 

“ All right,” she said, and a moment later they 
were walking down the steps together. 

Not till then did he have an opportunity to look 
at her, and he was struck with a sudden sense of 
strangeness. This was not the Betty Heywood he 
had known, but a woman brighter, more dashing, 
more self-assured. He was surprised, in a way, 
to find that there was no shadow of her father’s 
failure on her. He had expected to find her labour- 
ing with that sorrow, or at least showing visible 
traces of it, and he wondered how she had escaped 
so completely. 

She glanced at him once or twice, as they turned 
together along one of the paths of the park, and 
opened her lips to speak, but closed them again, 
as though hesitating how to begin. 

“You’re still at Wadsworth?” she asked, at 
last. 

“ Oh, yes.” 

“ In the dispatchers’ office?” 

“ Chief dispatcher now,” he said. 

96 


A BUBBLE BURSTS 


“ Are you? ” she said. “ Isn’t that fine! But I 
knew you’d work your way right up. Do you 
know, you’ve developed into just the sort of man 
that you were a boy.” 

“ Doesn’t everybody ? ” 

“ Oh, no indeed. Very few people do. Most of 
us grow crooked — there’s always something in 
the path that throws us out of line. Sometimes it 
throws us up and sometimes it throws us down, 
but you’ve grown right straight ahead. Now I 
can tell by the way you look at me that I’m not 
at all the kind of woman you expected I would be.” 

He was a little disconcerted at this frankness. 

“ No,” he said, at last, “ you’re right there. I 
can’t quite make you out.” 

“ I’ve had obstacles, you see,” she said, her face 
clouding for an instant. “ I’ve grown crooked.” 

“ I heard of your mother’s death,” he said, gen- 
tly. “ I shall never forget her, though I met her 
only once.” 

“ Yes — dear mother. She thought a great deal 
of you. So' did father.” 

“ Your father was very kind to me,” he said. 

She looked quickly into his face. 

“ Things have not been well with us,” she said, 
with a little catch in her voice. “ I had to go to 
work. I found I had some little artistic talent, and 
I turned it to account. And I’ve made a lot of good 
friends here.” 

She looked at him again. 

97 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 

“You’ve heard that I’m going to be married?” 
she asked, suddenly. 

“ Yes,” he answered, as evenly as he could. 
“ Mr. Round said something about it to-day.” 

“ It’s going to be next month. His name’s 
Knowlton — Robert Underwood Knowlton — he’s 
a lawyer, and the dearest fellow that ever was. I 
wish you could meet him. I know you’d like him,” 
she went on, rapidly. Then she stopped suddenly 
and looked at him. 

“ See here, Allan,” she said, her hand on his 
arm. “ Don’t look like that. It’s not I you’re in 
love with — you’re not in love with anybody. You 
never have been with me. You happened to meet 
me when you were lonely, and you gave me a little 
niche in your heart. But you don’t love me — 
that’s not what love is. I’m not at all the kind of 
woman you imagined — you’ve seen that already. 
Now you mustn’t be foolish — shake hands, like a 
brother.” 

He looked down into her face, and suddenly it 
seemed as though a veil were swept away, and he 
saw that she was right. It wasn’t love he felt for 
her — it was only affection. Her eyes, watching 
him anxiously, brightened as she saw the change 
in his face. 

“ You’re the dearest girl that ever was,” he said, 
clasping her hand, “ and the bravest. I’m not sure 
that I’m not falling in love with you now.” 

“ No, you’re not! ” she cried, patting him on the 
98 


A BUBBLE BURSTS 


arm. “ I knew I was right ! ” she added, her face 
beaming. “ You’ve made me so happy — for I 
couldn’t help worrying a little, sometimes. Will 
you come to the wedding, if I ask you? ” 

“ Ask me and see,” he retorted, laughing. 

“ Miss Elizabeth Heywood requests the favour 
of Mr. Allan West’s attendance at her wedding, 
February 16th, at two o’clock p. m. R. S. V. P.” 

“ Mr. Allan West acknowledges the receipt of 
Miss Heywood’s kind invitation and accepts with 
pleasure.” 

“ Good ! ” she cried, clapping her hands. “ Then 
you’ll meet Bob and you’ll see what a lucky girl 
I am.” 

“ I think I’ll be more apt to see what a lucky 
fellow he is.” 

“ Well, we’re both lucky, and we’re going to be 
very, very happy.” 

“ I hope you will,” he said, heartily. 

“ Thank you, Allan ; I know you do. And now 
here comes my car. Stop it for me. Good-bye,” 
she added, as the car came to a stop opposite them. 
“ And I can’t tell you how glad I am I met you 
this afternoon. Good-bye!” 

She waved her hand to him from the platform, 
and was gone. 

He stood for a moment, watching the car, then 
turned slowly back toward the museum. He, also, 
was glad that he had met Betty Heywood — glad 
that she had been brave enough and clear-sighted 
99 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


enough to set him right with her and with the 
world. 

And yet he realized dimly that there was sud- 
denly a place vacant in his heart. 


100 


CHAPTER X 


IN THE SWITCH TOWER 

Without pausing at the museum, Allan boarded 
a car back to the city. After all, he reflected, Betty 
Heywood was right — train-dispatching had little 
to do with art and artists. He realized that he had 
looked at the paintings and the statuary from the 
outside, as it were; he had been interested in them, 
it is true, as he would have been interested in a play 
or a novel. They had entertained him, they had 
helped him to pass a pleasant hour, and that was 
all. He did not feel that they were vital to him 
— vital in the sense that a thorough knowledge of 
railroading was. 

In a word, he was narrowing into a specialist, as 
every man who really accomplishes anything in the 
world must do. His work had become the only 
really necessary and vital thing to him. He had 
found his groove, and while he still possessed the 
power to climb out of his groove ocasionally and 
to look about the world and find amusement in it, 
it was in his groove that he felt most at home, that 
he was strongest and most efficient and most con- 
101 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 

tented. For his efficiency — the knowledge that he 
was really doing something in the world — rejoiced 
him and moved him to stronger effort. 

So his feet naturally led him back to the great 
depot which formed the Union terminal for all the 
lines of railroad entering Cincinnati. It was a place 
which might well be interesting to any one, so 
crowded was it with life and well-directed skill. To 
any one looking at it understanding^ it was more 
than interesting. It was engrossing. Nowhere else 
did the life-blood of traffic pulse quite so strongly; 
nowhere else was there quite such an opportunity 
to study human nature; and nowhere else was 
perfection of organization in railroading so neces- 
sary and so evident. 

It was this latter point which interested Allan 
most of all, and so, with merely a fleeting glance 
at the crowds hurrying past him, he bent his steps 
along one of the narrow cement platforms which 
ran out under the train-shed like long, gray fingers. 
In the midst of the tangle of tracks just beyond 
the train-shed, stood a tall, box-like structure, its 
upper story entirely enclosed in glass. Dodging 
an outgoing train, Allan hastened toward this queer 
tower, climbed the narrow stair which led to its 
upper story, opened the door and looked in. 

“ Hello, Jim,” he said, to a man in shirt-sleeves 
who stood looking down upon the busy yards. 
“ May I come in ? ” 

The man turned quickly and held out his hand. 

102 


IN THE SWITCH TOWER 

“ Sure, Mr. West,” he said. “ Come in and sit 
down,” and he motioned toward a chair. 

Just then a bell overhead rang sharply. 

“ That’s the Pennsylvania limited,” he said. 
“ Give her track number twelve, Sam.” 

There were two other shirt-sleeved men in the 
little room, standing before a long board from 
which projected what appeared to be a series of 
little handles like those one sees on water-cocks. 
At the words, one of the men turned one of these 
little handles. 

Again the bell rang. 

“ Number seventeen for the accommodation,” 
said the man Allan had addressed as Jim, and an- 
other little handle was turned, while still a third, 
which had been turned, sprang back to its original 
position. 

“ There goes that school-teachers’ special from 
eleven,” added Jim. “ Fix her, Nick,” and the 
third man turned a handle at his end of the board. 

Allan, meanwhile, had taken a seat, and gazed 
down over the network of tracks. Trains were 
arriving and departing almost every minute. Busy 
little yard-engines were hustling strings of coaches 
about, pulling them out from under the great 
train-shed or backing them up into it. Down the 
long cement walks beneath the shed, arriving and 
departing passengers were hurrying to and fro; 
trucks piled high with luggage or groaning under 
a load of mail-sacks or express matter were being 
103 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


propelled back and forth with almost superhuman 
skill; engineers were “oiling round,” blue-coated 
conductors were reading their orders, hostlers with 
flaring torches were taking a last look at wheels 
and connections — in a word, the busy life of a 
great terminal was at full blast. 

And above it all, controlling it, as it were, by 
a movement of a finger, stood Jim — James An- 
derson Davis, if you care for his full name — 
gazing down upon it nonchalantly, and giving a 
terse order now and then. For Jim is the chief 
towerman, than whom, in his sphere, no autocrat 
is more autocratic and no czar more absolute. 

It is a fearful and wonderful thing, this con- 
trolling the trains that arrive at and depart from 
a great terminal — almost too fearful and wonder- 
ful to be put upon paper. But at least we will make 
the effort. 

Most modern terminals resemble each other in 
general plan. Railroads have found it not only 
convenient for the public but economical for them- 
selves to build “ union stations ” in the larger 
cities, wherever possible. That is, a suitable site 
is selected, as near the business centre of the city 
as it is possible to get, and the roads join together 
in providing the money necessary to purchase it and 
erect the station building, the cost being pro-rated 
in proportion to the amount of traffic which each 
road gets from the station. 

104 



CONTROLLING IT, AS IT WERE, BY A MOVEMENT OF A 
FINGER, STOOD JIM.” 































































































IN THE SWITCH TOWER 

The side fronting upon the street is usually hand- 
somely embellished, for it is this side which the 
public sees as it approaches, and all railroads know 
that to make a good impression is to do good ad- 
vertising. So with the main waiting-room, which 
always lies directly behind the street doors. Here 
marble, mosaic and gilding are always in evidence 
and no opportunity is lost to impress the travelling 
public w 7 ith the wealth and magnificence of the road 
which it is using. On either side of the main wait- 
ing-room are smaller waiting- and retiring-rooms, 
there is a row of ticket-booths, a news-stand, tele- 
phone booths, baggage-rooms, a dining- and lunch- 
room and, of course, inevitably, the long rows of 
seats, back to back, where the waiting public spends 
so many weary minutes. 

In the stories Overhead are the executive offices 
of the various roads — as many of them as there 
is room for — but to these the general public 
seldom penetrates. 

Beyond the swinging doors along the side of the 
waiting-room opposite the entrance is the main 
platform or concourse, and from it, stretching down 
between the tracks like long fingers, are the narrow 
cement platforms upon which the passengers alight 
or from which they mount to their trains. The 
tracks are laid in pairs, and a platform extends 
between every pair, each platform thus serving two 
tracks, one on either side. Overhead is the great 
echoing vault of the train-shed with its mighty ribs 
105 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 

of steel, stretching in one enormous arc across the 
tracks beneath — a marvel of engineering skill, if 
not of architectural beauty. 

This is what is known as the head-house plan, 
and is the ideal one for the passenger, since it per- 
mits him to gO' to and from his train without cross- 
ing any tracks or climbing to any overhead bridges. 
It is, however, expensive for the railroads since, 
of course, all through trains must be backed out 
and switched around until they are headed on their 
way again — a process which requires no little ex- 
penditure of time and energy, as well as money. 
However, in a great city, a right-of-way which 
would enable the through trains to continue straight 
onward toward their destination is frequently so 
expensive that it is cheaper to back them out the 
way they came in, and send them by a detour 
around the city. 

And upon no one is this backing-out process more 
wearing than on the tower-man, for the trains must 
be handled twice over the same track, and of course 
the track must be kept clear until the train is out 
again and safely on its way. Now there is never 
any surplusage of tracks in a terminal. Indeed, as 
one sees the tracks narrow and narrow as the ter- 
minal is approached, until they are merged into 
those which plunge beneath the train-shed, one is 
apt to think they are all too few. Yet their number 
has been calculated with the greatest care; there 
is not one more than is needed by the nicest eoon- 
106 


IN THE SWITCH TOWER 


omy of operation — n'or one less. The number is 
just right for the station’s needs — so long as the 
towerman knows his business and keeps his head. 

And now to return to the glass-enclosed perch 
where, for eight hours of every day, Jim Davis and 
his two assistants send the trains in and out over 
the network of tracks. That long row 'of little 
handles is the last word in switch-control. Time 
was — and is, in all but the most important stations 
— when the towerman opened or closed the yard- 
switches by means of great levers. To throw one 
of these levers was no small athletic feat, especially 
if the switch it controlled was at some distance, and 
to keep at it eight hours at a time reduced the 
strongest man to mental and physical exhaustion. 
When the towerman left his work at the end of his 
trick, he was, in the expressive parlance of the day, 
“ all in.” Now when men are “ all in,” they are 
very apt to make mistakes, hence in a busy terminal 
under the old system, accidents more or less seri- 
ous were of almost every-day occurrence. Besides 
which, the number of levers which one man was 
physically able to operate was comparatively small, 
so that there must be many men and a consequent 
divided responsibility and opportunity for confu- 
sion. 

The tower itself had been an evolution, for, at 
first, these yard-switches had been controlled by a 
brigade of switchmen, each of whom had two or 
three under his supervision, which he turned by 
107 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 

hand whenever he saw a train coming his way. 
Then the hand switchmen were supplanted by a 
cluster of levers in a tower, operated by a single 
man. The tower was so located that its occupant 
had a general view of the yards, and the levers 
were connected by steel rods with the switches and 
signals which protected them. For every switch 
must have its signal — that is, a device by which 
the engineer of the approaching train may see 
whether the switch is properly set — the old stand- 
ards showing yellow when the switch was open and 
red when it was closed — and since replaced by 
arms, or semaphores, which hang down when the 
.train may pass and bar the way when it must stop. 

This grouping of the levers in the tower simpli- 
fied the control of the yard and placed the respon- 
sibility upon a more intelligent and more highly 
paid man than the average switchman, and conse- 
quently broadened the margin of safety. But ter- 
minals grew and yards grew and switches increased 
in number, until even this system was unable to 
meet the demands made upon it. 

It was at a time when this state of affairs seemed 
seriously to threaten the safety of operation of 
great terminals that some genius invented the pneu- 
matic control. Instead of a row of great levers re- 
quiring the strongest muscles, the towerman found 
himself confronting a battery of tiny ones, oper- 
ated by the touch of a finger. And that finger- 
touch against the slender lever is instantly magni- 
108 


IN THE SWITCH TOWER 

fied to the pull of a giant arm- against a switch half 
a mile or more away. 

How? By a bewildering intricacy of cogs and 
valves, by the aid of the electric current and of 
compressed air, for, in order to perfect this mechan- 
ism, man has harnessed the whirlwind and the 
lightning. That finger-touch brings instantly an 
electric touch; the electric touch raises a valve 
which releases the compressed air from a cylinder 
into which it has been pumped; and the air thus 
withdrawn from the cylinder in the tower basement 
is also in the same instant withdrawn from a cylin- 
der opposite the switchpoint, by means of a slender 
pipe which connects the two ; and a plunger in the 
cylinder at the switch moves the switch-point and 
the signals which protect it. 

That seems enough for any mere machine to do 
— but it does much more. For, by a series of in- 
terlocking devices, the switches are so controlled 
by each other that no signal for a train to proceed 
can be given until all the other switches over which 
the train will pass have been properly set and 
locked, nor can any switch be moved as long as 
any signal is displayed which gives right of way 
over it. Thus was the margin of safety further 
broadened, and the control of a great terminal 
brought down to three men on each eight hour 
trick, representing the very cream of their profes- 
sion. 

Approaching trains announce their coming by 
109 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


ringing an electric gong, the chief towerman, of 
course, knowing just which train is due at that 
particular instant — knowing, too, if any train is 
late, and how late and with what other trains it 
conflicts. He must know the precise second of de- 
parture of each train from the shed, and every 
train must glide smoothly in and out without let 
or hindrance. He must know; he mustn’t merely 
think he knows, for this is one of the positions in 
which a man never has a chance to make two mis- 
takes. For, while the tower machinery is wonder- 
fully adapted to its purpose, it is, after all, the mind 
of the chief towerman which controls and directs it. 

It was not by any means the first time that Allan 
West had sat watching this fascinating scene, but 
it had never grown uninteresting and he had never 
ceased to wonder at it. 

“ I used to think train-dispatching was a pretty 
nerve-racking business,” he remarked, after a while, 
“ but it’s child’s play compared with this.” 

“ Well, I don’t know,” said Jim, his eyes on a 
through train threading its way cautiously out of 
the terminal and over the network of switches. 
“We don’t have to worry about big accidents up 
here — the interlocking takes care of that. We 
can’t have a head-end collision, for instance — at 
least, not while the signals are working properly. 
What we’ve got to look out for is tangles. If we 
have to hold One train two or three minutes, that 
110 


IN THE SWITCH TOWER 


means that two or three other trains will be held 
up, and before you know it, you’ve got a block ten 
miles long. Then’s when somebody up here has to 
do some tall thinking and do it quick. The only 
way to keep things straight is to keep ’em moving. 
Sixteen,” he added to his assistants, as the over- 
head bell rang. 

They watched the train as it rolled in, saw it 
disgorge its load of passengers, saw the baggage 
and express and mail matter hustled off, saw the 
yard-engine back up and couple on to the rear coach, 
and slowly drag the train out from under the train- 
shed. 

“ I never watch that done,” added Jim, as the 
train disappeared down the yards, “ but what my 
heart gets right up in my throat. You don’t know 
what a way those pesky little yard-engines have of 
jumping switches. Open sixteen, Sam,” he added, 
as the big engine which had brought the train in 
rolled sedately down the yards on the way to the 
round-house, to be washed out and raked down and 
coaled up. “ Ring off thirteen, Nick,” he said, and 
Nick touches one of the little handles, a blade on 
a signal bridge opposite the end of the train-shed 
drops, there is a sharp puff, puff, of a locomotive, 
and another train starts slowly from the train-shed 
on its journey east Or west, north or south, as the 
case may be. 

Meanwhile, the little switch-engine has set its 
train of coaches in upon one of the innumerable 
111 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


sidings away down the yards where passenger cars 
are stored — and one would scarcely believe how 
many miles of such storage track every great ter- 
minal requires — has uncoupled and started back 
toward the train-shed for another load — her 
movements, by the way, as well known to and 
thoroughly understood by the chief towerman as 
are those of the most glittering through train. Al- 
•eady the train of coaches is in the hands of the 
cleaners and stockers, for it will start out again 
presently upon another trip. Modern passenger 
cars represent too much money to be allowed to 
repose on a siding a minute longer than necessary. 

The cleaners swarm into the coaches, dusty and 
dirty and foul after the long journey, dragging be- 
hind them long lines of hose. The hose carries 
compressed air, and in half an hour those cars are 
sucked clean of dirt and are as fresh and sweet as 
when they first came from the shops. Other clean- 
ers are washing the windows and polishing the 
metal fittings. Trucks pull up loaded with ice, with 
clean linen, and the stockers see that every car is 
supplied. Farther along is the diner, and to it come 
the butcher’s cart, the baker’s cart, the grocer’s cart ; 
dozens and dozens of napkins and table-cloths are 
taken aboard, and already the chef is making out 
the menu for the dinner which will be served in an 
hour or two somewhere out on the road. It is all 
wonderful — fearful and wonderful, when one 
stops to think of it — impossible to set on paper 
112 


IN THE SWITCH TOWER 


except in broad suggestive splashes, as an impres- 
sionist paints a sunset. 

“ Are you going back on Two ? ” asked Jim. 

“ Yes,” said Allan, glancing at the tower clock. 

“ Well, there she comes,” said Jim, and motioned 
toward a cut of coaches being backed into the train- 
shed by one of the ever-present switch-engines. 

“ All right,” said Allan. “ HI go down and 
hunt up Mr. Schofield. He’s going back with me. 
This is a great place, Jim.” 

“ Come again,” said Jim heartily. “ You’re 
always welcome. He’s a fine young fellow,” he 
continued, as Allan went down the stairs. “ He’ll 
have his office up yonder one of these days,” and 
he motioned toward the towering stories of the ter- 
minal building. “ Number eight, Sam,” he added, 
as the bell rang. “ There comes the St. Louis ex- 
press.” 


113 


CHAPTER XI 


Allan’s eyes are opened 

The return trip to Wadsworth was accomplished 
without incident, and, bidding Mr. Schofield good- 
bye, Allan ran up to his office to assure himself that 
everything was all right, and then, after writing 
a necessary order or two, turned his steps home- 
ward. The night was still and clear and it seemed 
to him that his steps rang on the pavement more 
loudly than usual. Certainly, as they turned in at 
the gate, they must have been heard within the 
Welsh home, for a moment later, the front door 
was opened and Mamie stood there, light in hand, 
to welcome him. 

Allan looked at her smiling down at him, with 
a strange little stirring of the heart. She had 
grown up almost without his noticing it; he had 
been so absorbed in his work that he had not seen 
the change from girlhood into young maidenhood. 
He knew, of course, that she had progressed 
through the graded schools and at last, trium- 
phantly, through the High school; he knew, when 
he stopped to think of it, that she would soon be 
seventeen; but she had continued, to all intents 
114 


ALLAN’S EYES ARE OPENED 

and purposes, the child he had snatched from death 
in the first days of their meeting. Now, somehow, 
all that was changed, and he gazed up into her face, 
seeing clearly, for the first time, what a winsome 
face it was. 

“ So you’re back ! ” she cried, standing aside that 
he might enter. “ But I heard Number Two 
whistle in half an hour ago.” 

“ Yes,” said Allan. “ I had a little work to do 
before I could come home. Do you know, Mamie,” 
he added, pausing beside her in the little hall, and 
looking down at her, “ I’d never noticed before 
what a pretty young woman you’ve been growing 
into.” 

The colour in Mamie’s cheeks deepened a little, 
but the blue eyes lifted to his did not waver, nor 
was there a trace of self-consciousness in her laugh. 

“ Look at these freckles,” she cried, her finger on 
them. 

“ Beauty spots ! ” 

“ And this pug nose.” 

“ A love of a nose! ” 

“ And this big mouth.” 

“ I should like to kiss it,” he said, and then 
stopped with a sudden burning consciousness that 
the words should not have been uttered. “ Forgive 
me, Mamie,” he said, quickly. “ I didn’t mean 
that — or, rather, I did mean it, but I shouldn’t 
have said it.” 

“ Why shouldn’t you have said it ? ” she in- 
115 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


quirecl, seriously, looking up at him with a little 
pucker of perplexity in her forehead. “ Why 
shouldn’t you kiss me, if you like?” 

He trembled a little before this trusting inno- 
cence, and searched around in his mind somewhat 
miserably for a reply. 

“ I don’t quite know,” he answered, at last. “ I’ll 
think it over. But you’ll freeze to death here, with 
no wrap on,” and without looking at her, he led 
the way into the sitting room beyond. 

Mamie followed him, and, placing the lamp upon 
a table, sat down thoughtfully before the fire. 

“ So you’re back, Allan?” said Jack, laying 
aside the local evening paper, which he had been 
reading aloud to Mary. 

“ And hungry, too,” added Mary, hastily rolling 
her knitting into a ball. “ I’ll have ye a snack in 
a minute, Allan.” 

“ No you won’t,” retorted Allan, placing his 
hands on her shoulders and holding her in her 
chair as she started to rise. “ I had dinner in the 
diner with Mr. Schofield, and really ate more than 
I should. I’m not the least hungry.” 

And feeling Mary subside under his hands, he 
released her and sat down. 

“ What’s the news? ” he added, turning to Jack. 

“ Oh, nothin’ much,” replied the latter. “ I’ve 
heard a good deal of talk to-day about that court 
decision on the employers’ liability act. One sec- 
tion-man dropped a heavy tie on another section- 
116 


ALLAN’S EYES ARE OPENED 


man — an’ the feller that was hurt sued the railroad 
under the law. Now the court holds that the law 
don’t apply, and some of the boys are say in’ that 
nothin’ that helps the labourin’ man ever does apply 
when it gits up to the supreme court.” 

“ Yes — I’ve heard of the case,” said Allan. 
“ But look here, Jack — do you think the road 
ought to be made to pay, because 'one of its men 
injures another through carelessness? It wasn’t 
the road injured him. Suppose you hired two men 
to build a chimney and one of them let a brick fall 
on the other and killed him. Would you think you 
were to blame, or that you ought to pay dam- 
ages ? ” 

“ No,” said Jack. “ Sure not. But somehow a 
case against a corporation looks different to most 
people.” 

“ I know it does,” agreed Allan. “ And there 
are a lot of people who wouldn’t steal from an 
individual who don’t hesitate to steal from a cor- 
poration. It’s a queer state of public morals. But 
who was doing the talking? ” 

“ Well,” said Jack, “ most of it was done by a 
big fellow with a black moustache named Nixon. 
Somebody said he’d come on to make the road 
take Rafe Bassett back.” 

The disgust in his voice told how unfavourably 
he considered such a proposition. 

“ Well, don’t you be afraid,” said Allan, “ the 
road won’t take him back.” 


117 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


“ I’m glad to hear it. I know Rafe Bassett — 
he’s low down trash — he’s always got a hammer 
out fer somebody. I never did understand how he 
got the pull he’s got with his lodge.” 

“ Well, he’ll need a pull before he gets through 
this,” said Allan, “ but let’s talk about something 
else, Jack. Oh,” he added, suddenly, “ who do 
you think I saw in Cincinnati to-day? I had the 
afternoon to myself and I went out to the Art 
Museum — and there, painting a picture, sat Betty 
Heywood.” 

A sudden wave of colour flooded Mamie’s face, 
but no one saw it. 

“Paintin’ a picture?” repeated Mrs. Welsh. 
“ Is she a painter? ” 

“ Yes, and a mighty good one, so far as I was 
able to judge, though she laughed at me and said 
she wasn’t. She seemed glad to see me and we 
took a little walk together.” 

He paused a moment, for there was an unac- 
countable difficulty, somehow, in telling what he 
had to tell. Mamie’s eyes were on his face, and 
she was deadly pale. 

“ She told me about her work,” he went on. 
“ She said she’d had to do something for a living, 
and had done well with her paintings. I should 
think she would.” 

“ Had to do something for a livin’ ? ” echoed 
Mrs. Welsh. “ Where’s her father? ” 

“ He’s going down grade,” answered Allan, so- 
118 


ALLAN’S EYES ARE OPENED 


berly, and told what he had heard of Mr. Hey- 
wood’s dissipation. 

“ I’m mighty sorry t’ hear that,” remarked Jack, 
when Allan had finished. “ Mr. Heywood was a 
good man an’ a square man. I’ve seen better super- 
intendents — we’ve got a better one now — but, 
all the same, I liked Mr. Heywood.” 

“ So did I,” said Allan. “ I wish something 
could be done.” 

Jack shook his head. 

“ When drink gits its grip on a man as old as 
him,” he said, “ they ain’t much hope.” 

“ Thank goodness his wife’s dead,” added Mrs. 
Welsh. “ It’s the wife that it’s allers the hardest on,” 

“ It’s hard enough on the daughter,” broke in 
Mamie, softly. 

“ Well, she won’t have to stand it much longer,” 
said Allan, seizing the opening Mamie’s remark 
gave him. “ She’s going to be married next 
month.” 

Mamie gave a quick gasp, which she tried to 
change into a cough, and bent again toward the 
fire, hiding her throbbing face in her hands. 

Mary was staring at Allan, as though scarcely 
able to believe her ears. 

“ Married ? ” she repeated. “ Who to ? Allan, 
do you mean — ” 

“ She’s going to marry a young lawyer named 
Knowlton,” broke in Allan, evenly. “ It’s to be on 
the sixteenth, and she asked me to come.” 

119 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


Mary bent again to her knitting, with a sort of 
hiss that sounded suspiciously like “ the hussy.” 

“ She seems to be very happy over it,” Allan went 
on, anxious that these dear friends should under- 
stand, and yet fearing to say too much. “ She’s a 
splendid girl, and beautiful as ever; but she’s 
changed, too. She’s not the same girl I used to 
know.” Mamie was looking at him now, with 
intense eyes. So was Mrs. Welsh. “ She saw it 
in my face, somehow, and we laughed over it.” 

“ Well,” said Jack, heavily, “ I used t’ think you 
was kind o’ sweet on her yerself, Allan.” 

“ I thought so, too,” answered Allan, smiling. 
“ But I guess it was just girls in general — you 
know she was about the only one I ever met. I’m 
mighty glad she’s going to be happy. I’m going 
to the wedding. Why, where’s Mamie ? ” he added, 
looking around at the sound of a softly closed door. 
“ She not going to bed already ? ” 

“ Already ! ” echoed Mrs. Welsh. “ Do you 
know it’s after eleven o’clock? Time everyone of 
us was a-bed. Come, now, off wid ye! ” 

Allan laughed and arose, stretching himself 
lazily. 

“ I hadn’t any idea it was so late,” he said. 
“ Good-night,” and he mounted to his room. 

He went immediately to bed — but not to sleep. 
The events of the day had been many and inter- 
esting. He closed his eyes, and called up again 
the minutes he had passed with Betty Heywood — 
120 


ALLAN’S EYES ARE OPENED 


he heard her voice, he saw her face — but somehow 
another face kept slipping in between — a face 
with a freckled, tip-tilted nose, and tender, sympa- 
thetic mouth. Something within him seemed to 
warm and gladden, and he dropped off to sleep, at 
last, with a smile upon his lips. 


121 


CHAPTER XII 


THE INTERVIEW WITH NIXON 

Superintendent Schofield was at his desk 
bright and early next morning, for the purpose of 
getting out of the way the thirty-six hours’ ac- 
cumulation of routine business, before the ap- 
proaching momentous interview with Nixon Only 
one familiar with the executive offices of a railroad 
has any idea of the immense amount of corre- 
spondence, — reports, complaints, requests for in- 
formation and instructions — which that stretch of 
time can accumulate, but the superintendent waded 
into the pile of letters and telegrams with a rapid- 
ity born of long practice, and when he finally leaned 
back in his chair, with a sigh of relief, it wanted 
still some minutes of nine o’clock. 

“ That’s all, Joe,” he said, to the stenographer, 
and that young man gathered up the letters, closed 
his note-book, and left the room. 

Mr. Schofield swung around in his chair and 
stared down over the yards, his forehead wrinkled 
thoughtfully. 

He and Mr. Round had, the afternoon before, 
122 


THE INTERVIEW WITH NIXON 


gone over carefully every detail of the approach- 
ing interview, and yet it was very possible that 
some trivial incident might spoil it all. Most un- 
pleasant of all loomed the possibility that he had 
been mistaken in his estimate of Nixon. Perhaps 
the man would not take a bribe — perhaps he was 
honest. Should that prove to be the case, any such 
attempt as Mr. Schofield was about to undertake 
could not but result most unpleasantly to himself 
and to the railroad. He could already see the news- 
paper headlines which would announce it — for the 
press of the country had, as a rule, followed the 
crowd and joined in the yelp at the heels of the 
“ conscienceless corporations.” 

ATTEMPT TO BRIBE! 

Schofield, of the P. & O., Gives Convincing 
Evidence of Corporation Methods 

Offers Special Delegate Nixon a Thousand 
Dollars to Betray His 
Trust 


Believes All Men May be Bought, but 
Is Shown that Labour Is Unpur- 
chasable — Grand Jury to 
Investigate 

He realized that he must feel his way with the 
utmost caution, and yet as he recalled Nixon’s 
words, and the significant glance which accom- 
123 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


panied them, he could not believe that he had been 
mistaken. But the man was adroit and suspicious 
— a single false movement and he would be on 
his guard. 

A tap at the door interrupted his thoughts. 

“ Come in,” he called, and an instant later, the 
door opened and Nixon entered the room. 

“ On time, I see,” said Mr. Schofield, pleasantly, 
and motioned his visitor to a chair. 

“ Yes,” said Nixon, taking off his luxurious 
overcoat and sitting down, “ I make it a point to 
be on time for little conferences like this. The 
boys were inclined to get mad,” he went on, “ be- 
cause I gave you two days to make up your mind. 
But I told them there wasn’t nothing to gain by 
hurryin’ a thing like this. I told them I wanted 
to give you a fair show. That’s me. I allers give 
everybody a fair show.” 

Nixon was, at bottom, coarse and uneducated, 
and this coarseness and ignorance would crop up in 
his talk at times, in spite of his efforts to suppress 
them. Since his promotion to a high place in the 
brotherhood, he had studied incessantly how best 
to make himself a “ gentleman.” Unfortunately, 
his conception of the meaning of that word was 
modelled upon the demeanour of barbers, bar-ten- 
ders and hotel-clerks. He believed a diamond scarf- 
pin and a seal-ring to be indispensable portions 
of a gentleman’s attire, together with a shirt striped 
in loud colours, glazed shoes, a fancy waistcoat, 
124 


THE INTERVIEW WITH NIXON 

and a trace of perfume. He also believed that a 
gentleman invariably wore his hat cocked over one 
eye, to prove himself a knowing fellow and man 
of the world. He had laboured with the utmost 
diligence to form himself upon this model and was 
entirely satisfied with the result. That he was not 
a gentleman, and that anyone who met him would 
not so consider him, never for an instant entered 
his mind. 

“ Yes,” he repeated, “ I insisted that you be 
given a fair show, and finally they saw that I was 
right. I don’t believe in no snap judgments. I 
heard that you was down to Cinci yesterday and 
saw Round.” 

It may be added that another point in Nixon’s 
conception of gentlemanly conduct was that he 
should call men in exalted positions by their last 
names to show his sense of equality, or by their 
first names to prove his easy familiarity with 
them. 

“ Yes,” said Mr. Schofield, “ Mr. Round and I 
had a conference about the matter.” 

“ Well,” demanded Nixon, gazing at him from 
under lowered lids, “ what’s the answer ? ” 

“ We won’t reinstate Bassett,” answered Mr. 
Schofield, quietly. 

“Then, by God, it’s fight!” cried Nixon, his 
face turning purple, and he brought his fist down 
on the desk with a crash. “ Do you realize what 
all this is going to cost you? ” 

125 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


“ Tell me,” suggested Mr. Schofield. “ And 
don’t hit my desk again like that. Some of my men 
might think there was a fight, and come in. We 
don’t want any intruders.” 

“ No,” agreed Nixon, “ we don’t,” and he 
glanced sharply about the room. Then he hitched 
his chair closer to the desk and leaned forward in 
his earnestness. “ This thing’ll cost you a hundred 
thousand dollars before you’ve done with it, and no 
end of trouble. I’ve been lookin’ over the field, 
and I know. First, I’ll call off the engineers.” 

“ We’ll replace them,” said Mr. Schofield, 
promptly. 

“ You’ll try to,” corrected Nixon, “ but it won’t 
be so easy as you think. Good engineers ain’t knock- 
in’ around the country lookin’ fer scab jobs — you 
know that as well as I do. The good men are all 
in the brotherhood. All you’ll find is a few dubs 
who can run an engine after a fashion and who 
don’t belong to the brotherhood or have been 
kicked out — they’ll soon play hob with your en- 
gines.” 

“ No doubt they’re pretty bad if they’ve been 
kicked out,” observed Mr. Schofield. 

“ But,” continued Nixon, impressively, paying 
no heed to the interruption, “ the minute this scab 
engineer climbs up into the cab, that same minute 
the fireman will climb down. More than that, no 
union conductor or brakeman will help run a train 
which a scab engineer is driving, no union switch- 
126 


THE INTERVIEW WITH NIXON 


man will throw a target for it, and no union op- 
erator will give it orders. So there you are — 
fire Bassett, and you’ll need mighty soon not only 
a new outfit of engineers, but of firemen, conduc- 
tors, brakemen, switchmen and operators. Maybe 
you think it’ll be easy to find new men to take their 
places, but I don’t.” 

“I don’t either,” agreed Mr. Schofield; “ but 
just the same we won’t give up the fight before 
it begins.” 

“ Well, your lines are bound to be tied up more 
or less, even at the best,” said Nixon, “ and right 
in the busy season, too. That will mean consid- 
erable of a loss.” 

“ Yes,” nodded Mr. Schofield, “ it will.” 

“ And some of the loss will be permanent. 
When traffic is turned aside that way, if only for 
a short time, some of it always stays turned aside. 
After you git things straightened out, you’ll have 
to git out and hustle for business, or your earnings 
will show a permanent decrease.” 

“ I know that too,” said Mr. Schofield. 

“ And there’s another thing to consider,” went 
on Nixon, impressively. “ Union men are orderly 
and law-abiding. All they will do is to quit their 
jobs and let you run the road if you can. They 
won’t interfere with you — they never do.” 

“ So I have heard,” said Mr. Schofield, with a 
grim smile. “ Surely it’s no use repeating that 
fairy tale to me.” 


127 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 

. * 

“ It’s no fairy tale,” protested Nixon, earnestly, 
but there was a sardonic light in his eyes. “ As 
I said, union men never make trouble. But there’s 
always a lot of sympathizers and hangers-on who 
try to help, and who always do make trouble, 
however hard the union men may try to prevent 
it.” 

“ I don’t think the union men will lose any sleep 
trying to stop it.” 

“ Yes, they will,” contradicted Nixon, “ but they 
won’t be able to. Wind of this trouble has got 
about, you know; and just last night, as I was 
passing a saloon over here, I heard two or three 
fellers talkin’ and one of them remarked what a 
beautiful big blaze the stockyards would make and 
how easy it would be to start.” 

“ Is this a threat? ” asked Mr. Schofield, looking 
fixedly at his visitor. 

“ A threat ? Oh, dear, no ; I’m simply telling 
you what I heard — I want you to know what kind 
of trouble it is you’re walkin’ into. Of course, I 
stopped right away and told those fellers we union 
men wouldn’t stand for nothing like that.” 

“ Yes,” commented Mr. Schofield, “ I’ve got a 
picture of you stopping. Your righteous indigna- 
tion is plainly apparent.” 

“ Well, anyway,” said Nixon, grinning, “ there’s 
no telling what’ll happen if you decide to let this 
strike go on.” 

“ I didn’t say that we had decided to do that,” 
128 


THE INTERVIEW WITH NIXON 

said Mr. Schofield, quietly. “ I only said that we 
wouldn’t reinstate Bassett,” and he looked Nixon 
straight in the eye. 

That individual sustained the gaze for a moment, 
his colour deepening a little; then he arose and 
made a deliberate circuit of the room, assuring 
himself that all the doors were tightly closed, and 
also glancing into the closet where the superin- 
tendent hung his hat and overcoat. The inspection 
finished, he returned to his chair, and produced two 
big black cigars, handing one to his companion and 
lighting the other. 

“ Thanks,” said Mr. Schofield, taking the cigar 
with a little effort. He lighted it, took a puff or 
two, and then looked critically at its fat, black 
contour. “ Good cigar,” he commented. 

Nixon laughed complacently. 

“ Yes, I’m kind o’ pertick’ler about my tobacco,” 
he said. “ These is a private stock — I get ’em 
from a friend of mine. I’ll send you over a couple 
of boxes.” 

“ They’re better cigars than I can afford to 
smoke,” remarked the superintendent. “ The job 
of special delegate must pay pretty well.” 

Nixon laughed again. 

“ Oh, so, so,” he said, and tilting his chair back, 
rammed his hands deep in his trousers’ pockets. 

“ How long have you held it? ” 

“ Three years — an’ there’s never been a breath 
of complaint against me. If any man stands square 
129 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


with the brotherhood, it’s me,” and again Nixon 
grinned sardonically. 

Mr. Schofield’s last trace of uncertainty had van- 
ished. He knew his ground now and could ad- 
vance more surely. 

“ No,” he went on, slowly, “ we won’t reinstate 
Bassett, and at the same time we’re going to avoid 
a strike, if we can. I think you remarked the other 
day that there would be no strike unless you called 
it.” 

“ There won’t,” said Nixon, briefly. 

“ What will happen, then ? ” 

“ I’ll make a report adverse to Bassett and he’ll 
be kicked out of the brotherhood ? ” 

“ Won’t he make a howl? ” 

“ Let him. What good will it do ? My report 
goes.” 

Mr. Schofield nodded, as he watched the cigar 
smoke float slowly upward. 

“ I see,” he commented, and there was a mo- 
ment’s silence. “ Suppose,” he went on, at last, 
“ that you were convinced that it was your duty 
to make such a report, what assurance would we 
have that you would really make it ? ” 

“ You’d have to take my word,” said Nixon. 
“ You could count on me making the report, all 
right, if I was properly convinced.” 

“ And I suppose,” continued Mr. Schofield, 
“ that you would have to be — ah — convinced in 
advance.” 


130 


THE INTERVIEW WITH NIXON 


This was a new experience for him and he was 
considerably the more confused of the two. 

“ Sure thing,” answered Nixon, bluntly. 

“ Well, I’ll see if I can convince you. Bassett 
was drunk, he was insolent to his superior officer; 
to reinstate him would mean the end of discipline 
on this line. His offence falls clearly under rule 
forty-three, which says that no employee of the 
road, on duty or off, shall frequent saloons. In 
violating that rule, he laid himself liable to dis- 
charge and discharged he was. He also violated 
rule sixty-one, which says that insolence to a supe- 
rior officer may be punished by dismissal, at the 
discretion of the train master. The train master 
exercised his discretion and dismissed him. When 
Bassett was employed by the road he was given 
a copy of the rules and knew that he must obey 
them if he wanted to hold his job. He disobeyed 
them, and lost it — so he’s got nobody to blame 
but himself. That’s our position. Don’t you think 
it’s a pretty strong one?” 

“ Yes,” agreed Nixon, slowly, “ it looks pretty 
strong,” but he was plainly waiting for something 
that was still to come. 

“ By the way,” continued Mr. Schofield, opening 
a drawer of his desk. “ After you left the other 
day, I found this package on the floor,” and he 
took from the drawer a little packet, carefully 
wrapped and sealed, and laid it on his desk. “ It 


131 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 

doesn’t belong to anyone around here, and I 
thought maybe you’d dropped it.” 

“ Let’s see it,” said Nixon, and took it with 
eager fingers. He ripped open the seal and drew 
out a little bundle of paper currency. He ran 
through it rapidly and found it to consist of ten 
one hundred dollar bills. “ Yes,” he said, slipping 
them into an inside pocket. “ It’s mine. I’d been 
wondering what had become of it.” 

“ And you’re convinced ? ” 

“ Perfectly, I’ll report against Bassett.” 

“ When?” 

Nixon glanced at his watch and started to his 
feet. 

“ Right away,” he said. “ The meeting’s called 
for ten-thirty. I’ll just have time to get there.” 

He picked up hat and overcoat and started for 
the door. Mr. Schofield, his finger hovering over 
an electric button, watched him with a perplexed 
pucker of the forehead. Then his face cleared, 
and he took his hand away from the button. 

“ Well, good-bye,” he said. “ I’m glad we could 
settle it so easily.” 

“ Oh, nobody never has no trouble with me,” 
said Nixon, “ if they talk business,” and he opened 
the door and closed it after him. 

Two men, who — so a single glance told him — 
were not railroad men, were standing just across 
the hall, looking out of a window. They glanced 
around, as he came out, but made no effort to 
132 


THE INTERVIEW WITH NIXON 


molest him, and he hurried away, the packet in his 
inside pocket pressing against his breast with a 
most reassuring warmth. 

And just as he disappeared down the stairs, the 
door of Mr. Schofield’s room opened and the two 
strangers were called hastily inside. 


133 


CHAPTER XIII 


mr. Schofield’s bombshell 

The meeting room of Scioto lodge, B. of L. E., 
was jammed to the doors. Every member who 
was off duty and who could by any possibility at- 
tend, was present. Many of them had come in 
from the road only a short time before, and in the 
ordinary course of things, would have gone home, 
got something to eat, and gone to bed; but the 
present crisis took the place of food and sleep, and 
its excitement robbed them of desire for either. 

The meeting hall was on the third floor of a 
brick building only a short distance from the sta- 
tion. It was reached by two long flights of steep 
and narrow stairs, and was cold and scantily fur- 
nished and uninviting. At various points about 
the room, large arm chairs stood on little platforms, 
these being the stations for the officers of the lodge, 
when going through the intricacies of the ritual. 
Rows of smaller chairs were pushed back along 
the walls, there was a table or two — and that was 
all. 

On this bright morning in late January, as has 
been said, the hall was crowded. A group had 
134 


MR. SCHOFIELD’S BOMBSHELL 


gathered around Bassett, who was declaiming ex- 
citedly. 

“ It’s our chance,” he was saying. “ Now’s the 
time t’ show the road who’s boss. You know well 
enough all the other orders’ll stand by us, an’ we’ll 
tie the division up so tight it can’t turn a wheel.” 

The younger men nodded emphatically, but a 
few of the older ones looked grave. They had 
been through strikes before, and knew that they did 
not always turn out as the strikers anticipated. 

“ I don’t know,” put in one of them, hesitatingly. 
“ I don’t believe we’ll ever be able to boss the road. 
It don’t look right. If you had a business, you’d 
want to run it, wouldn’t you ? ” 

“ Yes,” flashed Bassett. “ But I’d run it square.” 

“O’ course; we kin do our best to make ’em 
run it square.” 

“ Well, that’s all we’re tryin’ to do now, ain’t 
it?” 

“ Some o’ you fellers seem to be hopin’ there’ll 
be a strike. Mebbe they’ll reinstate Bassett.” 

“ Mebbe they will,” growled that worthy, “ but 
I don’t believe it. They ain’t got manhood enough 
to do that.” 

In his heart, he knew that he had been wrong, 
and did not deserve reinstatement; but this con- 
sciousness of guilt interfered in no way with the 
bold face he turned to the world, and the loud voice 
in which he proclaimed his wrongs. And a bold 
face and loud voice often have great weight with 
135 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


the unthinking, who mistake them for the earmarks 
of innocence. 

“ Well, I hope they will,” said another of the 
older men, wistfully. “ I ain’t in no sort o’ shape 
to stand a strike.” 

“ I ain’t either,” put in one of the younger men, 
boldly, “ but that don’t make no difference. I’d 
ruther starve ’n work fer a company as wouldn’t 
do the right thing.” 

“ It’s all right to starve yourself,” rejoined the 
older man. “ I used t’ feel that way, too ; but 
when it comes t’ starvin’ yer family, it’s a different 
matter — mighty different.” 

“ Yes,” added another, “ an’ when a feller’s 
built a house an’ is payin’ fer it in the Buildin’ an’ 
Loan, a strike don’t look good, neither. If a feller 
can’t make his payments, he loses his house, with- 
out any ifs or ands about it.” 

“ Pshaw ! ” put in the young fellow, easily. 
“ The brotherhood’ll take care of you. You won’t 
starve nor lose your house, neither.” 

“ Mebbe not. But if I loses my job, a lot o’ 
good my house’ll do me, won’t it? ” 

“ Lose yer job? How kin you do that? ” 

“ Easy enough. I’ve seen — ” 

But a sudden shout from the door interrupted 
him. 

“ Here’s Nixon! Here’s Nixon! ” 

And the great man was half-pushed, half-carried 
forward to the platform at the end of the room. 

136 


MR. SCHOFIELD’S BOMBSHELL 


He smiled about to those on the right and left 
of him, and finally mounted the platform and de- 
liberately removed overcoat and hat. A close ob- 
server might have seen that he was very nervous, 
but he held himself well in hand. The truth is, 
Nixon had not anticipated so large an outpouring 
nor such intense interest in the case and in conse- 
quence, found the task confronting him consider- 
ably more difficult than he had thought it would 
be. 

He took out his handkerchief and passed it over 
his moist moustache, for he had stopped in the 
saloon on the first floor to take a single “ bracer,” 
then he held up his hand impressively for silence. 
Nixon believed in doing a thing dramatically. 

“ Well, boys,” he announced, “ I’ve seen Scho- 
field.” 

“What did he say?” shouted one of the men, 
impatient of Nixon’s deliberate manner. 

“ Now, look here,” yelled Nixon, searching the 
offender out with threatening forefinger, “ I won’t 
be interrupted — I won’t ! If another man does that, 
I leave — an’ I’ll let y’ wait a week fer a letter 
from headquarters. You don’t seem t’ realize what 
it means fer a man like me t’ come down here t’ 
settle your rows.” 

“ That’s what you’re paid fer,” murmured one 
of the men, in a far corner, but he lowered his voice 
carefully. 

“ Schofield an’ I went over the situation from 


137 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


a , to izzard,” Nixon continued, when quiet was 
restored, satisfied that there would be no further 
interruptions. “ He gave me the case from the 
road’s side, and I gave him the case from our side, 
and I can’t deny that he had the best of me.” 

There was a little murmur at this, but Nixon 
stilled it instantly with raised finger. 

“ The fact of the matter is,” he went on, raising 
his voice suddenly and glowering at Bassett, who 
occupied a place in the front line, “ this man Bassett 
was drunk the other night, and every mother’s son 
of you knows it.” 

“ It’s a lie ! ” yelled Bassett, white as death, and 
again there was a murmur, but again Nixon man- 
aged to still it. 

“ I’ll answer you ” he said, pointing to Bassett, 
“ after this meetin’ adjourns. I ain’t here to argue. 
I’m here to state facts. This man was drunk an’ 
insulted his superior officer. The road had a right 
to fire him on two counts — fer bein’ drunk an’ 
fer insubordination.” 

He paused an instant and glowered around. 
There had been a little movement at the door a 
few minutes before, and Mr. Schofield had stepped 
quietly inside, followed by the two men whom 
Nixon had seen standing in the hall outside the 
superintendent’s office. But so intent was everyone 
on what Nixon was saying that no one observed 
them, and they stood watching the proceedings 
without question or interference. 

138 


MR. SCHOFIELD’S BOMBSHELL 


“ Now, I’m going to give it to you fellers 
straight,” continued Nixon. “ You need it. You’ve 
been makin’ a little tin god of this feller and he 
ain’t worth it. Now my advice to you is, drop 
him. Kick him out. At any rate, the grand lodge 
won’t back you up if you try to call a strike about 
this, and you know what that means. It means 
that your charter will be taken away from you and 
the lodge disbanded. The grand lodge will see every 
time that you get your rights, but it won’t back 
you up when you’re as clearly in the wrong as you 
are now. Why, to call a strike for a thing like that 
would be suicide. Let me tell you boys something 
— you’ll never win any strike unless you have the 
public with you. If the public’s against you, sooner 
or later you’ll be going back to work like whipped 
curs — an’ you’ll be lucky if you kin get your old 
jobs. An’ I guess that’s all,” he concluded, mop- 
ping his forehead with his handkerchief. 

Then his eyes rested on three men who had been 
gradually working their way toward the stage, and 
he caught his breath sharply. But in an instant, by 
a mighty effort, he had recovered his self-control. 

“ Boys,” he said, “ here’s Mr. Schofield himself. 
I’m glad he’s with us. I want to say that I’ve 
found him a square man.” There was a little flut- 
ter of applause at this, for most of them had them- 
selves found him to be a square man. “ We would 
all be glad to have Mr. Schofield address us a few 
words,” added Nixon, but he glanced at the super- 
139 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


intendent apprehensively, as the latter, in response 
to the invitation, stepped with alacrity upon the 
platform. 

“ Yes,” said Mr. Schofield, turning and facing 
the expectant audience, “ I want to say a few words 
to you. I have heard what Mr. Nixon has been 
saying — I have listened to him with great pleasure. 
For I believe that what he has told you is true — in 
the first place, that the road was right in discharg- 
ing Bassett and in refusing to reinstate him, and in 
the second place that no strike can succeed unless 
it has the public behind it.” 

Here he glanced at Nixon, who had seated him- 
self in the president’s chair and who was nodding 
from time to time, as Mr. Schofield proceeded, 
every trace of apprehension banished from his 
countenance. 

“ But before I go further,” Mr. Schofield con- 
tinued, “ I ought, perhaps, to apologize for my 
presence here. I had intended, of course, to ask 
permission to enter, but there wasn’t anybody at 
the door, nor anybody to ask, so I just came in. 
I ask permission now.” 

“ That’s all right,” shouted one of the men, “ go 
ahead,” and it was evident from their smiling faces 
that everyone present concurred in the invitation. 

“ Thank you,” said Mr. Schofield. “ And now,” 
he continued, more seriously, “ I have something 
to say to you. As I said, I was glad to hear Mr. 
Nixon’s sentiments and to see that, on the whole, 
140 


MR. SCHOFIELD’S BOMBSHELL 


you agreed with him. I certainly think that the 
road was right in the stand it took, and I believe all 
of you will agree with me when you think it over. 
You have always found the road ready to meet you 
half way in any reasonable demand, but we’ve got 
to maintain discipline or quit business. And, after 
all — and here I’m talking very frankly to you — 
it’s we who are running the road and not you. Of 
course, if you don’t like the job, you can quit it 
— • we don’t quarrel with that ; but, if you are really 
fair-minded, you will see our side, too, which is 
that if you break the rules, you must take the con- 
sequences. When you take employment with the 
road, you agree to obey the rules, and you can’t 
object if the road holds you to the bargain.” 

The superintendent was evidently carrying the 
crowd with him, and he paused a moment before 
launching his bombshell. Should he launch it, he 
asked himself, or should he let well enough alone? 
There would be no strike, everything had been 
quietly smoothed over. Nixon had carried out his 
agreement. Was it not wiser to stop now and let 
affairs take their course? Then the remembrance 
of Allan West’s flushed and indignant face rose 
before him and he nerved himself to go on. 

“ So I was interested to hear Mr. Nixon’s opin- 
ions,” he said, slowly, “ and I thought you might 
be interested in knowing how Mr. Nixon arrived 
at them.” 

At the words, Nixon turned livid and half- 
141 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


started from his chair, but Mr. Schofield heard 
the movement and turned toward him sternly. 

“ Sit down,” he said, curtly, and the two men 
who had come in with him moved closer to Nixon’s 
chair. “ This representative of yours,” he contin- 
ued, impressively, “ came to me this morning. I 
told him we had decided not to reinstate Bassett. 
He said that in that case, there would be a strike 
— a general strike — that would cost us thousands 
of dollars. He hinted that the stockyards would 
be set afire and other damage done to the com- 
pany’s property. But in the end, he agreed to re- 
port against Bassett and prevent a strike, in con- 
sideration of the payment to him of the sum of 
one thousand dollars.” 

The room woke up at the words as though a 
cyclone had suddenly broken loose. Nixon was on 
his feet, shaking his great fist at the speaker, who 
was himself trembling with excitement. 

“ I paid him the money,” shouted Mr. Schofield, 
in a voice which dominated even that tumult, “and 
he delivered the goods ! ” 

The words fanned the flames anew, for a mo- 
ment, and then a sudden silence fell upon the 
crowd, as Bassett sprang to the platform. 

“If this thing’s true,” he shouted, his face as 
white as Nixon’s, “ we want proofs. I’ve stood 
here an’ heard myself called a drunkard an’ liar, 
but I don’t care. I want proof.” 

“ And you shall have proof,” retorted Mr. Scho- 
142 


MR. SCHOFIELD’S BOMBSHELL 

field, “ if you’ll be quiet a minute. That’s right 
— don’t let him get away,” he added, as Nixon 
tried to slip from the platform and was promptly 
collared by the two strangers. 

“ Who are you ? ” demanded the prisoner, white 
with rage. “ Leggo me or I’ll knock you down! ” 

“ Oh, no, you won’t, Johnny,” rejoined one of 
them calmly, and showed his shield. 

“ Detectives ! ” gasped Nixon. 

“ Exactly.” 

“ Let me set down,” said Nixon, faintly, and 
sank back into the chair from which he had arisen. 

“ Now,” continued the superintendent, when that 
little by-play was ended, “ if you’ll listen a moment, 
I’ll give you your proof. I had intended to have 
Nixon arrested as he left my office, but when he 
told me he was coming right over here, I thought 
it would be more convincing to all of you if I made 
the disclosure here. My proof is, that in the in- 
side pocket of Nixon’s coat there is a package of 
ten one hundred dollar bills. They are notes issued 
by the First National Bank of this city, and range 
from number A 142320 to A 142329. As a fur- 
ther mark of identification, each of them has a 
small cross in red ink just over the (head of the 
eagle.” 

Bassett sprang toward the crouching man. 

“ We’ll see ! ” he cried savagely, and ripping 
Nixon’s coat open plunged his hand into the inside 
pocket. 


143 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


An instant later, he snatched it out again, and 
waved the packet of bills in the air over his head. 

“ It’s true! ” he yelled. “ He’s sold us ! ” 

And he turned upon Nixon as though to rend 
him limb from limb, while the mob pressed forward 
like so many maddened beasts. 


CHAPTER XIV 


DECLARATION OF WAR 

For a moment, it looked as though summary ven- 
geance would be taken upon the special delegate. 
But the detectives were equal to the occasion. One 
of them snapped a pair of handcuffs on the wrists of 
the cowering man, while the other snatched out a 
revolver and faced the shrieking mob. 

“ Stand back ! ” he cried, and when Bassett 
pressed on, caught him by the collar and flung 
him away. “ Let the law deal with this man. Don’t 
make fools of yourselves! You’ll be sorry for it 
afterwards ! ” 

“ He’s right ! ” shouted Mr. Schofield. “ Keep 
your heads, men ! Bassett, sit down ! ” and he 
caught the engineer, who was literally foaming at 
the mouth in a spasm of hate and anger, and flung 
him into a chair. 

The frenzy was over in a moment; cooler heads 
went about among the crowd counselling patience, 
and, in the end, Nixon was led away between the 
two detectives, a very different man from the self- 
assured, impudent fellow who had entered the room 
145 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


a short time before. Mr. Schofield accompanied 
them, having first seen that one of the detectives 
secured the packet of bills from Bassett to hold for 
evidence. And it may be added here, in passing, 
since Nixon will not again appear in the pages of 
this story, that he was, in due course, brought to 
trial, convicted of blackmail and sentenced to a 
term of years in the penitentiary. 

There was a moment’s silence after Nixon and 
his captors had left the hall. None of the engineers 
followed them, but lingered behind, looking inquir- 
ingly into each others’ faces, for they seemed to 
feel that there was still something to be said. 

Bassett seemed to feel so, too, for as soon as 
Mr. Schofield and the detectives left the room, he 
made his way to the door, closed it carefully, and 
placed a man on guard beside it; 

“ Now you stay there,” he said. “ We don’t want 
no more interruptions.” 

That done, he strode to the other end of the hall 
and mounted the platform. 

“ Now, boys,” he said, “ we’ve certainly had an 
eye-opener. Most of you were against me half an 
hour ago, but maybe you feel different now. We’ve 
allers known that there was some scoundrels among 
these special delegates, but I guess there’s goin’ t’ 
be one less now, an’ anyway none of ’em would dare 
try t’ work the same thing twice. I move that the 
secretary be instructed to send an account of this 
146 


DECLARATION OF WAR 

thing to the grand secretary, at once, an’ ask fer 
another delegate t’ be sent down.” 

“ Second the motion ! ” shouted some one, and 
it was carried with a roar. 

“ And now,” concluded Bassett, “ I guess there 
ain’t nothing more to be said at present. But this 
thing ain’t ended yet — not by no manner o’ 
means.” 

“ No, it ain’t ! ” shouted one of the men. “ An’ 
there’s another thing. After this, we’re back of 
Rafe Bassett — hey, boys ? ” 

“ You bet ! ” came the chorus. 

And when Bassett stepped down from the plat- 
form, it was in the guise of a hero. Everyone 
wanted to shake his hand and to protest undying 
devotion. He was enthroned more firmly than ever 
in control of the lodge, and everyone was anxious, 
as the saying is, to get into the band-wagon. 

Bassett was right in saying that the incident was 
not closed. Indeed, it seemed that it had scarcely 
begun. 

Nixon’s arrest and exposure created the biggest 
kind of a sensation. Newspapers described it under 
display heads, commented upon it editorially, and 
battledored and shuttlecocked it around until every 
phase of it was exhausted. But, curiously enough, 
while every compliment was paid Mr. Schofield for 
exposing Nixon, the whole affair seemed rather 
to incline the public to sympathize with Bassett. 

“ This expose,” as one paper expressed it, “ in no 
147 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


way affects the merits of the case. Indeed, it rather 
indicates that, without a bribe, the special delegate 
would have reported in Bassett’s favour. While 
the courage of the P. & O. in undertaking to expose 
the scoundrel cannot but be commended, the public 
should not permit this grand-stand play, as it were, 
to obscure the main issue. Whether the road was 
wrong, or whether Bassett was wrong, is a question 
whose solution we must await with an open mind.” 

The labour papers were much more outspoken. 
While all of them rejoiced ostentatiously in the de- 
tection and punishment of Nixon, they also took 
care to add that the fact that the railroad had to 
bribe Nixon in order to get a favourable report 
from him proved beyond a doubt that its case was 
a bad one. 

“ This entire occurrence,” one of them contin- 
ued, and not the most rabid by any means, “ moves 
us to inquire on how many occasions have the rail- 
roads used bribery in order to accomplish their 
ends ? No one can doubt that the use of money for 
this purpose is habitual with them, and we should 
not forget that the bribe-giver is as guilty as the 
bribe-taker. No bribe is ever given to accomplish 
an honest purpose, and the great corporations, 
which know so well how to take advantage of the 
weaknesses of poor human nature, are more to be 
despised and abhorred than the pitiable victims 
whom they have tempted to their ruin.” 

It was in Mr. Round’s office at Cincinnati that 


148 


DECLARATION OF WAR 

Mr. Schofield was shown this utterance, and the 
general manager watched him as he read it, a cyn- 
ical smile upon his lips. 

“You see what’s coming, don’t you?” he in- 
quired, when Mr. Schofield looked up. 

“ What is coming? ” 

“ A strike — and public sympathy is going to 
be on the other side.” 

“ You think so?” 

“ I know so. I’m afraid we made a mistake, 
Schofield, in peaching on Nixon.” 

“ Do you know,” said the superintendent, “ I 
felt a sort of presentiment of that sort when I 
started in to give him away. I came mighty near 
not doing it.” 

“ I wish you hadn’t. Why didn’t you heed the 
presentiment ? ” 

“ Well,” answered Mr. Schofield, slowly, “ in the 
first place, we had mapped out the plan to follow, 
and I didn’t quite feel like discarding it on my own 
motion. And in the second place — well — I’m 
almost ashamed to tell you — just as I shut my 
mouth and got ready to sit down, I remembered 
young West’s face as it looked when I spoke of 
bribery to him. Somehow, I just had to go on.” 

“ It was scarcely the time to heed a young ideal- 
ist,” said Mr. Round, dryly. “ But I’m not blaming 
you — the mistake was mine, and I take the re- 
sponsibility for it. I flattered myself that I adopted 
the course I did from purely utilitarian motives, 
149 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


but I’m inclined to suspect that West’s enthusiasm 
had something to do with my decision. You can’t 
mix railroading and impractical idealism, Ed. ; the 
railroading will suffer every time.” 

“ Yes,” agreed Mr. Schofield, “ I’m afraid it will. 
It certainly has this time.” 

“ We’ve got to make the best of it, and do what 
we can to set things right again. That’s mighty 
little. About all we can do is to get ready for the 
strike, and to hope that the strikers will make some 
fool move early in the game that will disgust think- 
ing people. They’re pretty sure to, and that’s what 
I’m counting on to help us win out.” 

“ And in the meantime ? ” 

“ We’ll keep our trains moving! ” and Mr. Round 
closed his jaws with a snap. “ Here’s what I’m 
counting on. The engineers and firemen will strike 
sure — the conductors and brakemen probably. 
The hardest to replace will be the engineers, and 
I’m already getting some extra ones under my hand. 
Within a week, I think we’ll have all we need, if 
we can protect them. The firemen and brakemen 
won’t be so hard to get — there’s always a lot hang- 
ing around who don’t belong to the union, and as 
for conductors — well, I’m going to put ' as many 
men from these offices and yours on the job as can 
be spared. Clerical work can wait a while. Our 
secret service is lining up a lot of dependable men 
to be used as special deputies, and in a week I think 
I’ll have everything in shape. The only thing is,” 
150 


DECLARATION OF WAR 


he added, sadly, “ we won’t have the public with 
us from the start.” 

“Of course, if it lasts long enough, there’ll be 
trouble,” observed Mr. Schofield. 

“ That’s what I expect — that’s what I’m hoping 
for — for that’s what is going to win us public 
sympathy. As soon as any trouble develops that 
our men can’t handle, we’ll call for the state troops. 
The governor will be with us,” he added; “that’s 
one mercy.” 

“ But I thought,” began Mr. Schofield, with a 
vivid remembrance of the rabid anti-corporation 
campaign the governor had made, “ I thought he 
was all the other way.” 

“ He’s seen a light,” said Mr. Round, briefly, 
and while he made no further explanation, it is safe 
to assume that it was this same light, discovered by 
the governor soon after taking his seat, which led 
him eventually to the senate of the United States. 

“ At any rate,” said Mr. Schofield, glancing at 
his watch and rising, “ I’m glad to know that you’ve 
got everything so well in hand. I fancy the engi- 
neers will hustle things along as fast as they can.” 

And they did, for the engineers realized, as well 
as the railroad, the value of public opinion. An- 
other delegate was sent from headquarters without 
delay, and, fully cognizant of the way the wind 
was blowing, announced that a strike would be 
called at once, if Bassett was not reinstated. 

The next morning, the delegate, accompanied by 
151 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


a local committee, waited upon Mr. Schofield. The 
interview was short and to the point. 

“ I have gone over the case,” said the delegate, 
who was a very different individual from Nixon, 
“ and I find that you exceeded your rights in dis- 
charging Bassett.” 

“ So there’s no use to argue the point, then,” 
said Mr. Schofield. 

“ None whatever.” 

“Of course your decision was thoroughly un- 
biased?” 

“ Thoroughly so,” answered the delegate with 
perfect composure. 

“ Well?” 

“ We demand that Bassett be reinstated at once.” 

“ And we unqualifiedly refuse.” 

“ Very well, sir. You know, I suppose, that 
there is then Only one course open to us ? ” 

“I suppose you mean you’ll call a strike?” 

“ Much as we regret to do so,” said the dele- 
gate with unction, “ that is what we shall have to 
do.” 

“ I have a picture of your regret,” said Mr. Scho- 
field, grimly. “ I’m going to have it framed. 
When will the strike begin ? ” 

“ At noon to-morrow,” answered the delegate. 

“You’ve figured this thing out? You know 
what it will mean to the men ? ” 

“ What will it mean ? ” 

“ It will mean that they’ll have to begin at the 
152 


DECLARATION OF WAR 


bottom again, so far as this road is concerned. 
They’ll never get their old places back.” 

“ Is that a threat ? ” asked the delegate, flushing. 

“ No; it’s a statement of fact.” 

“ Well, I guess we can take the consequences. 
Of course, you’ve figured it out from your side?” 

“ Thoroughly,” Mr. Schofield answered. “ You 
say the strike begins at noon to-morrow ? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ All trains on the road, I suppose, will be taken 
on to their destinations ? ” 

“ They will be taken to the terminus of the divi- 
sion.” 

“ And there will be no disorder or ^ttempt to in- 
terfere with the operation of the road ? ” 

“ Not if we can help it,” replied the delegate, 
smiling grimly. “ The brotherhood is always on 
the side of law and order. Come on, boys,” and 
he led the committee from the room. 

Two minutes later, Mr. Schofield had Mr. Round 
on the wire. 

“ I was just notified,” he wired, “ that the strike 
will be called at noon to-morrow.” 

“ All right,” flashed back the general manager^ 
“ We’ll be ready for them. Will get orders for- 
ward to you soon as possible.” 

“ O. K.,” clicked Mr. Schofield. Then he sent 
his stenographer to summon Mr. Plumfield and 
Allan West, and devoted the few minutes before 
they appeared to the study of the time-card. 

153 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 

“ Well, boys,” he began, when they were seated, 
“ I suppose you know there’s going to be a 
strike.” 

“ Yes,” nodded Mr. Plumfield, “ it’s all over the 
place.” 

“ It starts at noon to-morrow. The engineers 
will go out and I suppose the firemen will, too, 
right away. But how about the conductors and 
brakemen? ” 

“ I don’t believe the conductors will go out with- 
out orders from headquarters,” said the train master 
reflectively. “ And maybe they won’t get orders. 
You know they have been mighty careful recently 
about engaging in any sympathy strikes.” 

“ Yes, I know they have, and I suppose the 
brakemen will stay as long as the conductors do. 
But it’s going to be quite a job to get engineers 
and firemen to move Our trains. We’ve got a total 
of sixty-two regular trains in both directions every 
day, and thirty-eight of them are passengers.” 

“ But a lot of them are suburban trains running 
between Cincinnati and Loveland,” put in Allan. 

“ Yes,” agreed the superintendent, consulting the 
time-card. “ Twenty of them are. Of course they 
can be doubled back and forth, and some of them 
can be taken off, if necessary. But there must be 
no interference with the road’s through traffic. At 
12.15 to-morrow — fifteen minutes after the strike 
commences — Number Four, our through flier, 
leaves Cincinnati — and it’s going to leave on time, 
154 


DECLARATION OF WAR 


if I have to take it out myself. I haven’t forgotten 
how to run an engine, George.” 

“Neither have I,” laughed the train master; 
“ nor how to fire, either. But that’s only one train.” 

“ Mr. Round has been getting some men to- 
gether on the quiet. He knew this thing was com- 
ing, and did his best to get ready for it. I only 
hope he’s got enough.” 

“ Of course we’ll win,” said Allan, hopefully. 

“ If we don’t, it won’t be for lack of trying,” 
answered Mr. Schofield grimly. “ There’s Mr. 
Round,” he added, as the sounder on his desk 
wakened suddenly to life. 

“ It’s Round,” chattered the instrument, when 
Mr. Schofield had given the go-ahead signal. “ I 
have ten crews here ready for duty. They will live 
for the present in our offices. I will send eight 
more crews to Wadsworth to-night. Arrange to 
lodge and board them in the freight-house, also 
instruct local officer to swear in ten deputies to 
protect them — more if necessary. Get as many 
more local men as you can. You ought to be able 
to get a good many firemen among men Out of 
work. Eight crews will arrive at P'arkersburg 
from east to-night. If any symptom of trouble, 
notify sheriff. If he won’t act promptly, notify 
me and I’ll get troops. Strikers must be kept away 
from new men at any cost and company’s property 
protected. Arrest for trespass any found on com- 
pany’s property. Round.” 

155 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 

“ O. K.,” Mr. Schofield clicked back. “ I under- 
stand. Good work. That makes a total of twenty- 
six crews/’ he added, turning to his companions. 
“ And if by crews, he means conductors and brake- 
mfn too, we’re pretty well fixed for the present. 
What do you think about getting local men, 
George? ” 

“ I wouldn’t do it unless it’s absolutely neces- 
sary,” answered the train master. “ You can’t keep 
local men shut up, and as sure as we let them go 
home, the strikers will get them. It will be invit- 
ing trouble right away.” 

“ I don’t know but what you’re right,” agreed 
Mr. Schofield, after a moment’s thought. “ We’ll 
let that go for the present. I’ve got plenty to do 
as it is,” and he hastened away to give the orders 
necessary to prepare the freight-house for the re- 
ception of the new men. 

Fifty cots were secured, a cook-stove, tables and 
chairs, some light bed-clothing and a lot of tin 
dishes. Rude shelves were nailed up along the 
wall and a supply of canned vegetables, ham and 
bacon, coffee, sugar, condensed milk, molasses, 
flour, cornmeal, potatoes and other staples piled 
upon them, or heaped along the floor beneath. A 
cook from a small up-town cafe was hired and the 
superintendent did not forget to order in a case of 
tobacco, some decks of cards, dominoes, checkers, 
and a lot of illustrated papers. For the success of 
almost any strike-breaking depends on keeping 
156 


DECLARATION OF WAR 

the strike-breakers amused, in seeing that they are 
well-fed, and in taking care that they hold no com- 
munication with the strikers. Mr. Schofield pro- 
posed to take no chances of failure in any of these 
directions. 

While these preparations were being made, he 
called in the local detective employed by the road — 
a tall, raw-boned fellow named Stanley, a miracle 
of aggressiveness and nerve and with no little de- 
tective ability — and explained the situation to him. 
An hour later, that worthy marched into the may- 
or’s office at the head of ten husky men. 

“ I want to get these fellows sworn in, Your 
Honor,” he said. “ I guess you’ve heard about the 
strike.” 

The mayor looked down from his desk in some 
perturbation. The railroad element formed a very 
important portion of his clientele, and he was anx- 
ious to do nothing to offend it. 

“ Now see here, Stanley,” he said, “ you don’t 
need all this force. We’re not going to have any 
fighting here. If you need help, I’ll furnish it.” 

“ Orders is orders, sir,” said Stanley. “ I was 
told to git ten men, an’ I’ve got ’em.” 

“ What are you going to do with them ? ” 

“ Guard the company’s property, sir,” answered 
Stanley, promptly, for he knew the proper answer. 

“ Is it in danger ? ” inquired the mayor, with 
irony. 

“ It will be after to-morrow noon, sir. Besides, 
157 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


we’re going to get in a lot of strike-breakers to- 
night and we’re going to see that they’re not in- 
terfered with. And then I’ve got to patrol the 
yards and keep out trespassers. You see I’ve got 
a pretty big job on hand.” 

The mayor considered gloomily for a moment; 
but he really had no choice in the matter, so he 
reluctantly swore the men in, and handed each of 
them a special officer’s badge. 

“ Now I just want to say one thing to you fel- 
lows,” he said, when this ceremony was finished. 
“ These badges and the oath you have just taken 
give you authority to see that the law is observed 
— in other words, to see that no right, either of 
property or person, is interfered with. But they 
don’t give you a right to engage in a riot or to 
molest anybody who isn’t molesting you. Above 
all, they don’t give you a right to use your guns 
indiscriminately, and if any innocent person is hurt 
by you, some of you are going to suffer. I’ll see 
to that. That’s all.” 

Word of their presence at the mayor’s office had 
got about, and a little crowd, principally of boys, 
awaited them outside. When they made their ap- 
pearance, they were greeted by a chorus of yells, 
mostly from the aforesaid boys. 

“ Don’t mind ’em,” said Stanley, quietly. “ It’s 
only a lot of kids,” and he marched them off in the 
direction of the station. 

The crowd followed, growing larger as it went, 
158 


DECLARATION OF WAR 

but it came to a halt when the freight-house was 
reached and the deputies entered, closing the door 
behind them. Two or three stones were thrown, 
but a couple of policemen, sent by the mayor, soon 
arrived, and compelled the crowd to disperse. 

At nine o’clock that night, forty-eight strike 
breakers alighted from a special coach which had 
been attached to the east-bound flier, and were con- 
ducted immediately to the freight-house. There 
was a crowd on the station platform to see them 
alight, but no effort was made to interfere with 
them, though again there was hooting and shouting. 
Train master and superintendent watched this dem- 
onstration in silence, and then mounted to their 
offices. 

“ What do you think of it? ” asked the former. 

“ I don’t know,” answered Mr. Schofield, slowly. 
“ But I’m afraid there’ll be trouble. Just listen to 
that,” and he motioned toward the row of saloons 
along the street opposite the yards. 

Every one of them was ablaze with light, and 
every one was crowded, apparently, from the jangle 
and roar of voices which came from them, and 
which could be heard even above the noise of the 
yards. Evidently there was much excitement in 
railroad-dom, and the prospect for peace upon the 
morrow was not encouraging. 


159 


CHAPTER XV 


IN CHARGE AT WADSWORTH 

The P. & O. freight-house at Wadsworth is a 
long, low, One-storied brick building which stands 
just across the yards from the station. Like the 
station, it is dingy and grimy and gritty, as well as 
inadequate to the needs of the terminal; but no 
attempt was ever made to clean or brighten — 
much less to enlarge — it, and its self-respect had 
long since disappeared as a result of this neglect. 

At one end of the building are the offices, where 
the freight agent and his clerks labour with reports 
and receipts and bills of lading — a mass and Com- 
plexity of documents appalling and seemingly inex- 
tricable. The offices are crowded and gloomy and 
ill-smelling, for here, too, the road economizes at 
the expense of its employees’ health ; but their con- 
dition is order and cleanliness itself when compared 
with that of the great echoing freight-shed which 
occupies three-fourths of the building. No light 
penetrates to it except from the doors, for there is 
no room for windows, and the doors are overhung 
by the wide, low roof which covers the surrounding 
160 


IN CHARGE AT WADSWORTH 

platform. As a result, the freight-shed resembles 
a cavern in everything but atmosphere. In that, it 
resembles only itself; for its atmosphere is a thing 
apart, a thing to be encountered nowhere else, com- 
pounded as it is of a‘ variety of odours which defy 
enumeration. You have seen composite photo- 
graphs? Well, the freight-house atmosphere re- 
minded one of a composite photograph of particu- 
larly ugly people. It was something to flee from 
and wonder at and remember with awe. 

A wide platform the height of a freight car door 
runs all around this portion of the building, abut- 
ting on one side on the yards and on the other on 
the street. Behind it, and stretching along between 
the yards and the street, is a long platform, an ex- 
tension of the one running around the building. 
Beside this platform, a long line of freight cars is 
always standing — loaded cars from which the 
freight is being yanked out into the freight-house, 
or empties into which freight from the house is 
being hustled. And so various it is — crates, boxes, 
barrels, kegs, baskets, loose pieces of steel and iron, 
great sacks of burlap — it is impossible to give any 
idea of it here. Imagine, if you can, all the things 
you ever saw in all the stores in town, and all the 
raw material which is used in your town’s manu- 
factures, and you will find that nearly all of it 
came through the freight depot; to say nothing of 
your town’s products which go out again. It is a 
strenuous place, the freight depot, and the men who 
161 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 

labour there are big-armed and strong-backed and 
deep-chested. For theirs is a job that demands 
brawn. 

It was the echoing cavern 'of the freight-shed at 
Wadsworth which had been selected by Mr. Round 
as headquarters for the strike-breakers, not because 
it was particularly adapted to that use, but because 
it was the only place available. So the freight on 
hand had to be carefully sorted 'over, the larger 
articles taken out and stacked on the platform, the 
smaller ones stacked up at the end of the room near- 
est the offices, behind a flimsy board partition which 
had been hastily nailed up. Behind this barrier the 
freight men were instructed to transact their busi- 
ness, and orders were issued that on no account 
should any of them be permitted any intercourse 
with the strike-breakers. 

Then some attempt was made to clean the re- 
mainder of the room ; the tables and cots were put 
in place, the range installed, the cook put to work 
arranging his pantry, and the place was ready for 
its occupants. These, as has been said, arrived ’on 
the evening train, and were at once marched over 
to the place which was to be their home for an in- 
definite length of time. 

Under the glare of the gas lights overhead, the 
place presented a somewhat more attractive appear- 
ance than it did by day, and the bountiful supper 
which was soon provided did its share toward put- 
ting the newcomers in good humour with themselves 
162 


IN CHARGE AT WADSWORTH 


and their surroundings. The odour of cooking 
had served to mitigate the odour of the freight- 
house, and a cloud of tobacco smoke soon wiped 
it out altogether. The strike-breakers, under the 
softening influence of all this, began to look around 
at each other and to take the first steps toward 
getting acquainted. 

For they were strangers to each other; they had 
been gathered together hastily from many different 
sources, and were as diverse in appearance and, no 
doubt, in character, as forty-eight men could be. 
None of them, it was evident at once, would rank 
very high in the social scale. Most of them were 
plainly failures, and a glance at their rubicund and 
mottled faces revealed what the principal cause of 
failure had been. 

“ But then,” as Mr. Schofield was remarking to 
Mr. Plumfield and Allan West, in his office across 
the yards, at that very moment, “ we can keep drink 
away from them for a time, or, at least, give them 
just enough to keep them from losing their nerve. 
It will be easy enough for the first two or three 
days, but after that we’ll have to look out. The 
drink hunger will get st>me of them sure, and they’ll 
break away ; but most of them will stay, because we 
won’t give them any money till pay-day, and they’re 
all broke. Those who want to go, we’ll have to let 
go, of course, for we can’t hold them prisoners — 
though we’ll be accused of doing it, no matter what 
happens. Now what I want to say is this — we 
163 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


need a man we can trust to make his headquarters 
in that freight-house and to keep his eye out for 
trouble. And, Allan, I’m going to give you charge 
of the situation here. Mr. Plumfield and myself 
will have to be looking after matters at other points 
on the line — I’m going to Cincinnati to-morrow 
and George will go to Parkersburg. I don’t believe 
there’s as much chance of trouble here as there is at 
Cincinnati, where a mob of thugs and toughs can 
be collected in no time; 'or at a river town like 
Parkersburg, where there are always a lot of roust- 
abouts looking for trouble.” 

“ I don’t know,” said Mr. Plumfield, slowly. 
“ There are more railroad men here than at any 
other point on the division, since this is division 
headquarters. And the entire police force consists 
Of about a dozen men.” 

“ I know that,” replied the superintendent ; “ but 
there’s mighty few of the railroad men who will 
give us any trouble; even if they did want to, in 
a small town like this everybody knows them, and 
a man doesn’t begin to riot and destroy property 
where he’s generally known — he’s too likely to be 
caught and punished. Anyway, Allan must take 
the job.” 

“ All right, sir,” said Allan. “ I’ll do my best.” 

“ And now who’s the right man to put Over there 
in the freight-house ? ” 

“ Reddy Magraw,” answered Allan, promptly. 
“ He’s true blue and as sharp as a steel trap.” 

164 


IN CHARGE AT WADSWORTH 

Mr. Schofield nodded his approval. 

“ The very man,” he agreed. “ Will you see 
him?” 

“Yes, sir; right away,” and a moment later he 
was hurrying away in the direction of Reddy’s 
home. 

It may be explained in passing that, in Reddy 
Magraw’s home, Allan West was regarded with 
a degree of veneration and affection possible only 
to warm Irish hearts. 

In the old days, by an accident, it is true, he had 
brought Reddy out of a dangerous condition of 
insanity, and, since that time, any member of the 
Magraw household would have cheerfully risked 
life and limb for him. So, when, in answer to 
his knock, Mrs. Magraw opened the door, her 
honest Irish face lighted with pleasure at sight of 
him. 

“ Why, good avenin’, Mister West,” she cried. 
“Won’t ye come in?” 

“ I surely will,” said Allan. “ But since when 
have I been ‘ Mister ’ West? ” he added, laughingly, 
as he stepped inside. 

“ Iver since you’ve been chief dispatcher,” an- 
swered Mrs. Magraw promptly, leading the way 
and holding the lamp carefully so that he could see. 
“ Indade, we knows our place, sir, an’ it’s not fer 
the likes of us t’ be gittin’ too familiar with the 
chief dispatcher.” 

“ Nonsense, Mrs. Magraw,” laughed Allan. 

165 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 

“ I’m just the same fellow I always was — - 1 
haven’t changed a bit.” 

“ Not in yer heart, God bless ye. I know that 
ain’t changed an’ niver will be. Reddy,” she added, 
opening the door and showing Allan into the room 
which served as dining-room and sitting-room, 
“ Reddy, here’s Mister West.” 

“ Mister West?” echoed Reddy, looking up in 
surprise. “ Who d’ ye — Oh, how are ye, Allan,” 
he cried, recognizing the visitor, and springing to 
his feet with hand outstretched. 

“ First rate, thank you. And I’m glad you re- 
member my first name, anyhow.” 

“ Oh,” said Reddy, “ the ole woman’s been so 
stuck up iver since ye got your promotion you’d 
think it was me. It’s been Mister West this an’ 
Mister West that, till half the time I didn’t know 
who she was talkin’ about. Won’t you set down? ” 

“ Yes,” answered Allan, getting out of his coat, 
which Mrs. Magraw was waiting to receive. “ I’ve 
come for a little talk. Oh, don’t send them away, 
Mrs. Magraw,” he added quickly, for at his words, 
that lady had begun to herd the children out of the 
room. “ They won’t be in the way.” 

“ Yes, they will, sir,” she contradicted. “ Be- 
sides, little pitchers has big ears; though if I iver 
caught one o’ them kids repatin’ anything ye didn’t 
want repated, I’d kill him, I would, an’ think it 
good riddance. But it’s best t’ be on the safe side, 
an’ they’ll be very well off in the kitchen.” 

166 


IN CHARGE AT WADSWORTH 


The two youngest were protesting somewhat 
lustily that they did not think they would be at all 
well off in the kitchen, and immensely preferred to 
remain where they could continue to gaze at the 
illustrious visitor ; but their mother was inexorable, 
and banished the whole herd together. 

“ An* now,” said Reddy, when that had been 
safely accomplished and the door was shut, “ what 
is it?” 

“You know the strike begins to-morrow ?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ And you know what it’s about ? ” 

“ Yes. But I can’t hardly believe it. Neither 
kin anybody else who knows that drunken Rafe 
Bassett. It’s about him, ain’t it?” 

“Yes — we’ve fired him.” 

“ An’ small blame to ye.” 

“ And we won’t take him back.” 

“ An’ right ye are. I hope ye’ll fight it out.” 

“ We intend to. Mr. Schofield has placed me in 
charge of the situation here.” 

“ An’ they couldn’t ’a’ got anybody better,” put 
in Reddy, with conviction. 

“ I’m going to do the best I can, anyway — and 
I want you to help.” 

“ I’m ready.” 

“ You know we brought in a lot of men to-night 
to take the place of the strikers.” 

Reddy nodded. 

“ We’ve got the freight-house fitted up for them. 

167 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 

and Stanley has a detail of men guarding it. You 
know as well as I do that the only way to hold 
those men is to keep the strikers away from them. 
Stanley can keep guard all right on the outside, 
but we’ve got to have somebody to keep guard on 
the inside. I want you to go to work there as a 
kind of head bottle-washer, and keep your eyes 
open for trouble. At the first sign of it, let me 
know.” 

Reddy nodded again. 

“ All right,” he said. “ I ain’t much at bottle- 
washin’, but I knows how t’ kape my eyes open an’ 
my ears too. When do I begin?” 

“ The sooner the better.” 

“ I’ll go over right away, then,” and Reddy took 
down his hat and put on his coat. “ Good-bye, 
old woman,” he added to his wife, who had been 
sitting listening silently to all this. “ Look fer me 
back whin ye see me cornin’.” 

He patted her on the back and started for the 
door. Mrs. Magraw paused to help Allan into 
his Overcoat. 

“ You won’t be lettin’ nothin’ happen t’ him, 
Allan ? ” she asked, anxiously, forgetting his new 
title in the emotion of the moment. 

“ That I won’t,” he assured her. 

“ I’ve got a sort o’ feelin’ that there’s goin’ t’ be 
trouble, an’ that Reddy’ll be in it,” she added. “ It 
come t’ me strong when I set there listenin’.” 

“ Perhaps there will be trouble, Mrs. Magraw,” 
168 


IN CHARGE AT WADSWORTH 

said Allan. “ Indeed, I’ll be surprised if there isn’t. 
But we’ll come through all right.” 

“ Oh, I hope so, sir ! ” she cried, and lighted him 
to the door. 

She stood in the open doorway holding the lamp 
above her head as he and Reddy started together 
down the path to the gate. They had almost 
reached it, when Reddy suddenly paused, rubbed 
his forehead perplexedly, and then glanced around 
at the figure in the doorway. 

“ I’ve got t’ go back a minute,” he said, apolo- 
getically. “ You go ahead. I’ll ketch up with 
you.” 

Allan walked on slowly, then, at the gate, he 
looked around. Reddy was holding Mrs. Magraw 
in his arms, kissing her as tenderly as any lover. 
The quick moisture sprang to Allan’s eyes; he 
closed the gate behind him, and started across the 
yards; for Reddy’s house was perched on an em- 
bankment which had been left when the lower yards 
had been graded down to their present level. A 
minute later, he heard quick steps behind him and 
Reddy came running up. 

“ I jest had t’ go back,” he explained, a little 
shamefacedly. “ I don’t know what it was — but 
somethin’ kind o’ took me by the elbow an’ steered 
me around. Mighty queer.” 

They walked on together in silence to the freight- 
house. As soon as they approached it, they were 
challenged sharply, and stopped by one of the depu- 
169 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


ties. Stanley, attracted by the noise, came up a 
moment later and passed them through. 

“ Nobody can come through that line, day or 
night, unless I say so,” he explained. “ I’m not 
going to take any chances.” 

“ That’s right,” agreed Allan heartily. “ Mr. 
Stanley, this is Reddy Magraw.” 

“ Yes,” said Stanley. “ I know him. He’s all 
right.” 

“ I’m glad you think so. I’m putting him on the 
inside to keep his eyes open. He’ll report to you, 
but you oughtn’t to be seen talking together too 
much. You’ll report to me, or send him on to me, 
when you can.” 

“ All right, Mr. West. I’d suggest that he comes 
along after while and asks the cook for a job. 
He’d better not make his first appearance with you 
and me.” 

“ That’s a good idea. You wait here, Reddy, 
till you’re sent for.” 

“ Right,” agreed Reddy, and sat down on the 
platform. 

Stanley opened the door of the freight-house and 
led the way in. It was the first time Allan had seen 
it in its new incarnation, and it wasn’t exactly what 
one would call an attractive scene. Indeed, it was 
indescribably sordid. Some of the men had gone 
to bed; others were sitting around the tables play- 
ing cards or listlessly turning the leaves of the illus- 
trated papers. The gas lights overhead flared dimly 
170 


IN CHARGE AT WADSWORTH 


through a haze of tobacco smoke. The odour of 
cooking still lingered in the air, with onions strik- 
ing the high note, and at one end of the room, the 
cook was sullenly banging the tin dishes around, 
as he made a pretence of washing them. 

“ He won’t know Reddy,” said Stanley, in an 
aside. “ He ain’t been in town long, an’ while he 
was here, he never stuck his nose Outside that little 
joint where he worked. Hello, Sam,” he added, in 
a voice which everyone could hear. “ It looks to 
me like you need some help.” 

“Help!” snarled the cook. “No, I don’t need 
no help. That’s a mistake. I’m a wonder, I am. 
I kin cook three meals a day fer fifty men, wash th’ 
dishes, make the beds, an’ do all the other work 
without turnin’ a hair. I don’t need no help. I’m 
goin’ t’ quit,” he added, in another tone. 

“ There’s a feller outside askin’ fer a job, an’ I 
just happened to think of you,” said Stanley, and 
strode to the door. “ Here, you,” he called to 
Reddy. “ Step in here a minute. Here he is, Sam. 
What do you think of him ? ” 

“ He ain’t no prize beauty,” said the cook, look- 
ing Reddy over critically; “but he looks like he 
could work. Anybody’s better’n nobody. I’ll try 
him,” and he led Reddy away and set him to work 
with the dishes. It was all Allan could do to keep 
his face straight, as he saw Reddy, with evident 
repugnance, tie a piece of burlap around his waist 
for an apron and pick up a dish-cloth. 

171 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


Stanley led the way to one of the groups around 
the tables. 

“ Boys,” he said, in a voice which made all 
within hearing look up, “ this is Mr. West, the 
chief-dispatcher for this division. He’s in com- 
plete charge of affairs here at Wadsworth, and 
he’ll see that you get a square deal.” 

As Allan looked down into the faces gazing up 
at him, his heart failed him for an instant. How 
could any good work be done with such material? 
But he shook the thought away. 

“ I’ll have your details ready to-morrow morn- 
ing,” he said, “ and we’ll see that you are properly 
taken care of. We are going to fight this thing 
through to a finish, and we rely on your help to 
break this strike, for which there wasn’t the 
shadow of excuse. I don’t believe there’ll be any 
trouble, but we’ll take every precaution and see that 
you are thoroughly protected. And when the 
strike is over, a permanent position will be open to 
every one of you who wants it and who has made 
good. I hope that will mean all of you.” 

There was a little feeble applause at this, but 
most of his listeners knew, deep down in their 
hearts, that they would not make good, that they 
were unfit to hold a permanent position anywhere. 

“ If you want anything,” Allan added, “ ask for 
it. If you’re not comfortable, say so. Be loyal to 
the road and the road will be loyal to you. Good 
night.” 


172 


IN CHARGE AT WADSWORTH 


But as he left the place and walked slowly home- 
ward, the futility of his appeal sickened him. Why 
should they be loyal to the road — what incentive 
was there? How could those weak and hopeless 
and degraded creatures be loyal to anything, except 
their own desperate needs? They had taken the 
job. offered them for the money there was in it; 
or, perhaps, for the excitement which might fol- 
low. They would be careless and incompetent — 
it would be a tremendous task to get any results 
from them at all. He had never before appreciated 
how difficult it would be. For the railroad was a 
machine infinitely complicated, infinitely delicate. 
At noon on the morrow, scores of smooth and 
nicely-fitting parts would be removed, to be re- 
placed by rough and ill-fitting ones. Who could 
expect the machine to work smoothly — or, indeed, 
to work at all, — under such circumstances ? 


173 


CHAPTER XVI 


THE STRIKE BEGINS 

The first day of the strike dawned much as any 
winter day might — cold and blustery, with a 
threat of snow in the air. It can not be denied that 
Allan was exceedingly nervous as he hastened to 
work. He stopped first at the freight-house, but 
both Stanley and Reddy Magraw reported that 
everything there was serene, and that the strikers 
had made no effort to interfere with the men who 
were to supplant them. * 

About the yards, too, everything was moving as 
usual, and Allan began to wonder if he were the 
only one to whom the coming hours seemed threat- 
ening and full of menace. He might almost have 
fancied he had dreamed the whole thing but for 
the patrol 'on duty before the freight-house. At his 
desk, he made Out the detail of crews from among 
the strikebreakers, using for this purpose the re- 
ports which Mr. Round had secured of the past per- 
formances and experience of the strangers. These 
reports were anything but trustworthy, since they 
had come from the men themselves, but they were 
174 


THE STRIKE BEGINS 


the only thing to be had, and he made up his lists 
from them, giving the more important trains to the 
men who seemed best fitted to handle them. One 
thing made the task somewhat easier than it would 
otherwise have been. He knew that for a few 
days, at least, there would be no need to supply 
the places of conductors and brakemen; 'only engi- 
neers and firemen had to be provided now, but, 
even at that, it was with no little uneasiness that he 
finally passed the list over to his stenographer to 
be copied. 

The first important train for which he must 
supply a crew was Number Three, the westbound 
flyer, leaving Wadsworth at 2.30 p. m. As engi- 
neer, he had selected a man named Hummel, who 1 , 
from the report, seemed to have had an exceptional 
experience. But as the morning progressed, Allan 
grew more and more uneasy over the prospect of 
choosing the wrong man for this important post, 
and finally decided to have a look at Hummel before 
announcing the detail. So he called up the freight- 
house and asked that that individual be sent over 
to him. 

Five minutes later, one of Stanley’s deputies 
ushered into the chief dispatcher’s office a man 
from whom Allan shrank instinctively as from a 
serpent. He was a thin, undersized fellow, with 
a face deeply pitted and with the ghastly pallour 
which smallpox sometimes leaves behind it. But 
it was not the complexion so much as the eyes which 
175 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 

disgusted and repelled. It is difficult to describe 
the effect they produced — they were so venomous, 
so bloodshot, so reptilian. 

“ Is your name Hummel ? ” Allan asked, speak- 
ing with an effort not to show his repulsion. 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“ You seem to have had a good deal of expe- 
rience. 

“ Ten years of it,” answered Hummel, confi- 
dently. 

“ What was the trouble? ” 

“ What trouble ? ” demanded Hummel trucu- 
lently. 

“ How does it come you’re here? ” 

“ Oh ! Well, I never got a square deal. I ain’t 
no bootlicker I guess is the reason.” 

There was already a trace of hostility in his tone, 
as though he dimly felt the aversion his appearance 
had occasioned. 

“ All right,” said Allan, “ that’s all I want to 
know. Thank you for coming over.” 

He turned back to his work, and Hummel, after 
one venomous glance, stalked out the door. Allan 
watched him and his guard as they crossed the 
tracks toward the freight-house; then he reached 
for his list and scratched out Hummel’s name. 
But which name should be substituted? He hesi- 
tated for a moment and then, snatching up his hat, 
hastened over to the freight-house himself. Half 
an hour later he returned, with some little informa- 
176 


THE STRIKE BEGINS 

tion as to the appearance of the owners of the 
several names. Fully half of them he had checked 
off as not to be sent out at all, unless it should 
prove absolutely necessary. From the other half 
he chose the men who would be needed during the 
next twenty- four hours. 

So the morning passed and noon came, and the 
great division clock ticked off the seconds as calmly 
as though this midday was just like any other. 
To all appearances it was. The first train to start, 
Number Four, the eastbound flyer, left Cincinnati 
at 12.15, promptly on time. The regular engineer 
had, of course, failed to report for duty, and when 
a special man, convoyed by Mr. Schofield, climbed 
up on the engine, the fireman, as Nixon had pre- 
dicted, climbed down. Another man was promptly 
put in his place, and no further disaffection devel- 
oped, both conductor and brakeman remained on 
duty, nor did any switchman attempt to interfere 
with the train as it rolled slowly out of the yards 
and on to the main track. Mr. Schofield had chosen 
the best men at his command for this train, and as 
it passed station after station on time, Allan’s spirits 
rose perceptibly. 

Other trains were started out without misadven- 
ture. At Wadsworth, the strike-breakers were con- 
voyed to and from their trains by two of Stanley’s 
men, the remainder patrolling the yards and keep- 
ing them clear of loiterers. It was soon evident, 
however, that ten men would not be enough to 
177 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


handle this work night and day, and Allan in- 
structed Stanley to swear in ten more deputies. 

So the first afternoon passed and the first eve- 
ning came. 

It was a raw and blustery night, very dark, with 
dashes of sleet and snow, and, while everything 
had passed off serenely without sign of trouble, 
Allan was not wholly at ease as he left his office 
and started home to supper. In fact, things were 
too serene, and Allan could scarcely believe that 
the strikers would permit their places to be filled 
so quietly. Something of this apprehension must 
have been apparent in his face, as he sat down to 
supper, for Mamie, who was always quick to note 
any change in him, looked at him anxiously and 
started to ask a question, but thought better of it 
and closed her lips again. 

“ You’re lookin’ real tired, Allan,” Mary ob- 
served. 

“ I am a little tired,” he admitted. “ A good 
supper will set me up again. Where’s Jack? ” 

“ He hasn’t come yet. Delayed out on the road 
somewheres, I reckon. He’s mighty uncertain at 
his meals since he got his promotion. Here he 
comes now,” she added, as a heavy foot sounded 
on the side porch, and the back door opened. 

They heard him moving around in the kitchen, 
evidently washing up after the day’s work. Then 
he opened the door and came into the dining room. 


178 


THE STRIKE BEGINS 


“ Hello, 1 ” he said, nodding all around, and taking 
his seat. “ It’s a bad night for sure. How’s every- 
thing goin’, Allan ? ” 

“ Oh, all right. We haven’t had a bit of trou- 
ble.” 

“ I judged so,” said Jack, “ from the way the 
trains passed. I was over near Hamden lookin’ 
after that new switch. I don’t think there’ll be any 
trouble among the section-men or switch-men, 
either. They seem t’ think the thing’s a joke.” 

“ Well, I don’t,” said Allan gloomily. “ I think 
it’s very different from a joke.” 

The responsibility of his position was begin- 
ning to oppress him. Heretofore there had always 
been somebody higher up with whom, in any un- 
usual emergency, he could consult. Now, he was 
thrown entirely upon his own resources, and an 
emergency might arise at any moment which might 
involve much more than the welfare of the road. 
Human life might be involved, and law and order 
— all these might hinge upon a single word, the 
decision of a moment. If only it might be given 
him to speak the right word, to decide wisely ! He 
trembled inwardly at thought of the crisis he might 
be called upon to face. 

“ I’ve got to go back,” he said, at last, pushing 
back his chair. “ I don’t know how long I’ll be,” 
he added, “ so don’t wait up for me.” 

“ I’ll go with you,” said Jack, catching a tele- 


179 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


graphic glance from Mamie and hastily gulping 
down his coffee. “ I want to take a look around 
an’ see how things are.” 

“ All right,” said Allan, “ come along,” and to- 
gether they went out into the night. 

The wind had increased in violence and the 
weather was turning much colder. They needed 
all their breath, as they fought their way up the 
street against the wind. At the freight shed, Allan 
paused for a word with one of the guards, who 
was stamping his feet and clapping his arms against 
his sides in an effort to keep warm. 

“ Everything all right ? ” he asked. 

“ Yes, sir,” answered the guard, recognizing his 
voice, “ everything serene. Not a sign of trouble 
anywhere.” 

“ That’s good,” said Allan, and started across the 
yards. 

“ I’m goin’ to look around a while,” said Jack. 
“ I’ll look you up in half an hour or so.” 

“ All right,” said Allan, and continued on to his 
office, while Jack’s figure vanished instantly in the 
darkness. 

Jack had turned back toward the freight-house, 
intending to ask a few questions of the guard, but 
as he passed the platform at the lower end, a voice 
hailed him. 

“ That you, Jack? ” 

“ Yes,” Welsh answered, peering around, “ but 
where are you ? ” 


180 


THE STRIKE BEGINS 


“ Down here under thq platform,” and as Jack 
stooped, the odour of tobacco smoke assailed his 
nostrils. 

“ Oh, is it you, Reddy? ” he asked. 

“ Yes. Come under an’ set down.” 

Jack groped his way under and, guided by the 
glow of Reddy’s pipe, sat down beside him. The 
quarters were rather cramped, but the cold wind 
did not reach them and so they were fairly com- 
fortable. 

“What you doin’ out here?” Jack demanded. 

“ Oh,” said Reddy, “ I got so tired lookin’ at 
them bums in there an’ listenin’ to their big mouths, 
that I jest had t’ git away by myself an’ have a 
quiet smoke. Did ye ever wash dishes ? ” 

“ Oh, once in a while,” Jack answered, laughing, 
and getting out his pipe to keep Reddy company. 

“ Well, it’s a mighty poor way t’ earn a livin’,” 
said the latter. “If it wasn’t fer Allan, I’d 
a-thrown up the job afore I took it — but they’s 
goin’ t’ be trouble.” 

“There is? When?” 

“ Most any time. Them fellers can’t do without 
whiskey any more’n you kin do without air. 
They’re havin’ a meetin’ about it now.” 

“They are? What for?” 

“ They want t’ go an’ come as they please — 
between the freight-house an’ them saloons, over 
there. They say they’re bein’ kept prisoners.” 

“ But that’s all nonsense ! ” 

181 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


“ Don’t I know it,” said Reddy, scornfully, gaz- 
ing at the lighted windows across the yards which 
marked the chief dispatcher’s office. “ But any ex- 
cuse’ll do when a man’s lookin’ fer trouble. I guess 
the strikers had a pointer this was cornin’ — that’s 
the reason they’ve been so quiet.” 

“ You mean you think there’s somebody tippin’ 
things off to them ? ” 

“Yes; but I ain’t dead sure, yet,” answered 
Reddy, knocking out his pipe. “ D'rop in here 
every evenin’ an’ see me, Jack,” he added. “ I’d 
like t’ talk things over with ye. I must be gittin’ 
back. Hello, there goes the messenger,” he went 
on, as a figure strode from the freight-shed across 
■ the yards. “ Good-night.” 

“ Good-night,” Jack answered, and he sat watch- 
ing the messenger. He saw him mount the stair 
that led to the division offices, and, a few minutes 
later, saw him come down again, accompanied by 
Allan West. He watched them cross the yards 
towards him, and mount the platform, heard a door 
open and shut, and all was still. 

“ If I could only help! ” he murmured to himself, 
with drawn lips. “ But I can’t — I can’t ! An’ 
it’s a hard fight ! ” 

Meanwhile, inside the freight-house a queer 
scene was enacting. As must be the case when any 
body of men are thrown together, a leader had 
developed, or had arrogated to himself the rights 
182 


THE STRIKE BEGINS 

of leadership. In this instance, the leader, strangely 
enough, was not one of the larger or older men, 
but a small fellow whose livid pock-marked face 
and shifty eyes told of life in city slums and not 
in God’s open air — told, too, of a soul as well as 
body infected — in a word, Hummel. The per- 
sonnel of the men had changed somewhat during 
the afternoon. Ten or twelve crews had been sent 
out, and as many had come in, but there was still 
present a majority of those who had arrived the 
night before. Hummel, of course, had been as- 
signed to no run, and those that remained with him 
were the undesirables, the ones against whose 
names Allan had placed a check-mark. Among 
these, Hummel had been working quietly all day, 
talking to them first singly, then in groups of two 
and three, and finally, when they had finished sup- 
per, he had spoken out boldly. 

“ I don’t know how you fellers feel about it,” 
he said, getting to his feet and pounding on the 
table to attract their attention, “ but I feel a good 
deal as though I was in a lock-up. Oh, I ain’t no 
hypocrite — I knows how a lock-up feels, and I 
guess I ain’t the only one here as does. But I didn’t 
hire out to this here road t’ be locked up, an’ I won’t 
stand it. This is a free country — ” 

“ Now, see here, brother,” interposed Stanley, 
who had come hurrying up, “ you ain’t locked up, 
an’ you know it. We’re treatin’ you right. We’re 
givin’ you good grub an’ a good bed an’ we’ve got 
183 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


a lookout jest to make sure you ain’t interfered 
with.” 

“ You mean t’ say I kin go out that door if I 
want to ? ” queried Hummel. 

“ You sure can.” 

“An’ come back if I want to?” 

“ No,” said Stanley, sweetly. “ You can’t come 
back. If you go out, you lose your job.” 

“ That’s it ! ” shouted Hummel, banging the 
table again. “We kin go out, but we can’t come 
back ! Why can’t we come back ? ” 

“ You’ll have to ask Mr. West,” replied Stanley. 

“Who’s he?” 

“ He’s the chief dispatcher, and in charge 
here.” 

“ That kid what sent for me this mornin’ ? ” 

“ The same. But he ain’t a kid an’ I’d advise 
you not to monkey with him.” 

“ Pooh ! ” said Hummel, contemptuously. “ I 
guess I kin hold my own with a purty boy like that. 
Where is he? ” 

“ I’ve sent for him. He’ll be here in a minute,” 
and indeed, even as he spoke the words, Allan en- 
tered. 

Hummel, thoroughly angry, looked Allan up and 
down with a single glance of the eye, and continued 
to stare at him impudently as he approached. 

“What’s the trouble, Stanley?” Allan queried, 
for he had heard Hummel’s excited voice as he 
opened the door. 


184 


THE STRIKE BEGINS 

Oh, I guess this feller has gone without booze 
about as long as he can stand it,” answered Stanley, 
with a wave of his hand toward the white-faced 
protestant. “ He wants to go out an’ git some, I 
reckon.” 

“ That’s a lie!” shouted Hummel, waving his 
arms in the air. “ All I want is my rights as a 
free American citizen. You can’t work no peon- 
age racket on me. You can’t keep me a pris- 
oner — ” 

“ Nobody wants to,” broke in Allan. “ Take 
your coat and hat and get out.” 

“ And I will come back — ” 

“ No, you won’t — you’re fired. Get out.” 

“ When do I get my wages ? ” 

“ Next payday — in about three weeks.” 

“That’s justice, ain’t it! I kin afford t’ loaf 
around here three weeks, can’t I, t’ git one day’s 
pay!” 

“ Leave your address and the check will be sent 
you,” said Allan. 

But that was just' what Hummel could not do, for 
he had no idea where he would be in three weeks. 
Besides, a glance around at the faces of his com- 
panions showed him that he was going too fast — 
that he had not secured their sympathy. 

“ All right,” he said, after a moment, controlling 
himself by a mighty effort. “ I guess I kin stand 
it awhile longer. I just wanted t’ be sure you 
weren’t tryin’ to keep us prisoners. I’ll stay.” 

185 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


“ No, you won’t,” retorted Allan, promptly. 
“ I’ve already told you you’re fired. Now get out, 
or I’ll have Stanley throw you out. I guess you 
can do it, can’t you, Stanley? ” 

“ Try me,” said Stanley, grinning down from 
his six feet upon the little man before him. “ Say 
the word.” 

But Hummel didn’t wait for that. With one 
glance at the big officer, he turned to the wall and 
took down his overcoat from a hook where he had 
hung it. His face was livid and his lips were drawn 
back from his yellow teeth in an ugly snarl, as he 
started for the door. Stanley followed him and 
gave the sentry outside word to pass him. Hummel 
went down the steps silently, save for a queer hiss- 
ing in his throat, and Stanley stood and watched 
him until he disappeared in the darkness. Then he 
went slowly back into the freight-shed, his face 
very grave. 

“ That fellow means trouble,” he said to himself. 
“ He means trouble. Mebbe I’d ort to run him 
in.” 

Could he have seen Hummel at that moment, he 
would have been more than ever convinced that he 
was a dangerous man to be at large. For he had 
stopped in the shadow of a box-car and waited until 
Stanley, re-entering the building, closed the door 
behind him. Then, creeping closer, he concealed 
himself behind a pile of ties. There he sat down, 
hugging his knees with his arms, 

186 


THE STRIKE BEGINS 


“ I’ll git him,” he muttered, over and over to 
himself. “ I’ll git him. Oh, I’ll git him,” and he 
sat staring at the freight-house door with eyes like 
a wild beast’s. 


CHAPTER XVII 


EVENTS OF THE NIGHT 

Inside the freight-house, meanwhile, Allan had 
called the men together and was giving them a 
little talk. 

“ I want you men to understand,” he said, “ that 
you are in no sense confined here. You’re free to 
go at any time. But if you do go, you can’t come 
back. And I think all of you will understand the 
necessity for that rule. We are keeping you here, 
at considerable expense to ourselves, in order to 
protect you from interference by the strikers. We 
are trying to see that you are well fed and com- 
fortably lodged, and we are giving you this board 
and lodging without charge. Of course, this isn’t 
all pure philanthropy on our part. We are doing 
it because we believe that it is only in this way 
we can keep you together. If we permitted you 
to board and lodge out in the town, we would never 
know when you were going to show up for your 
run. There would always be the danger that you 
would be prevented from coming, either by force 
or persuasion. It would be impossible for us to 
188 


EVENTS OF THE NIGHT 


run the road in that way. The only way we can 
run it is to know certainly that you will be on hand 
when needed, and the only way we can be certain 
of that is to keep you together. When the strike 
is ended, there will be no further need of doing 
that, and a permanent place will be offered every 
one of you who makes good. If there are any of 
you who aren’t willing to work for the present 
under those conditions, now is the time to say so. 
If you want to quit, you are free to do so.” 

He looked around over the circle of faces, and 
waited a moment to see if therg was any re- 
sponse. 

“ That’s fair enough,” said one of the men at 
last. “ I ain’t got no kick cornin’,” and he walked 
over toward his cot, and began to make preparations 
to turn in. Two or three others followed his ex- 
ample, and finally the whole group broke up 
quietly. 

“ And that’s all right,” said Stanley, with a sigh 
of relief. “ I’m glad we got rid of that other duck. 
He meant trouble — an’ he means it yet. You 
look out for him, Mr. West.” 

“ All right,” answered Allan, with a laugh. “ I 
guess I can look out for myself.” 

“ You’ll need an eye in the back of your head 
t’ do it,” commented Stanley. “ He’s the style that 
hits from behind.” 

“ Well, I’ll keep my eyes open — and you keep 
yours open, too.” 


189 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


“ Trust me for that/’ said the detective. “ Good 
night, sir.” 

“ Good night,” said Allan and stepped out into 
the darkness. 

As his feet touched the platform outside the door 
he felt that it was covered with sleet, and by the 
glint of a distant street lamp, he could see that the 
sleet was still falling. He hesitated an instant, 
looking up and down the street. 

“ Bad night for railroading,” he said to himself. 
“ I guess I’d better see how things are going,” and 
instead of descending the steps to the street, he fol- 
lowed the platform around the building and started 
across the tracks toward his office. 

Jack Welsh, sitting under the platform where 
Reddy had left him, smoked his pipe placidly and 
stared out across the maze of tracks which separated 
him from the depot building across the yards. A 
sputtering arc light hung before the station, re- 
vealing the groups of figures picking their way 
carefully along the icy station platform. The rails 
gleamed white with their coating of ice, and the 
storm of sleet fell incessantly. Overhead Jack 
could hear the burdened wires creaking under their 
load of ice. Occasionally the yard engine came 
slipping along, vomiting sand on both rails in its 
effort to grip them, but freight was light, and 
after awhile, its work ended for a time, it retired 
to the lower yards, where it stood puffing on a 
siding. The east-bound flyer, Number Two, was 
190 


EVENTS OF THE NIGHT 


past due, but its failure to arrive caused Jack no 
uneasiness, for he knew that it was impossible for 
any train to keep to its schedule on such a night. 
Occasionally he heard overhead the tramp of the 
guard going his rounds ; far down the yards 
gleamed the red and yellow lamps guarding the 
switches; a switchman’s lantern waved from time 
to time. Jack, sitting cosily in his shelter, watched 
and understood and revelled in all this; for your 
old railroad man — born and bred amid these sur- 
roundings — finds his work grow more interesting, 
more fascinating, from year to year, until any other 
employment seems pale and savourless by compar- 
ison. 

As Welsh sat there musing, a quick step sounded 
on the platform over his head, and a lithe figure 
jumped to the ground and started across the tracks 
toward the offices. 

“ O’ course he’d be goin’ back there instead o’ 
goin’ home,” Jack muttered to himself. “ Now, 
what’d I better do? Hello, what’s that?” 

He had caught the sound of a stealthy step over- 
head, and an instant later, a slim form leaped to 
the ground and sprang after Allan as swift and 
noiseless as a panther. 

There was a menace in that crouched figure 
which brought Jack out from under the platform 
with a jerk. Staring with startled eyes, he fancied 
he caught a gleam as of a knife-blade in the air 
and a warning cry leaped involuntarily to his lips. 

191 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 

“ Hey, Allan. Look out! ” he shouted. 

And Allan, starting sharp around at the cry, 
found himself face to face with Hummel. 

The latter, stopping short in his swift career by 
a mighty effort, stood for an instant, his face con- 
vulsed, one hand behind him. 

“ Well, what is it ? ” Allan asked, sharply, sur- 
veying him with astonishment. 

“I — I wanted t’ see you,” answered Hummel, 
thickly. “I — I — ” 

“ Well, go on,” said Allan, impatiently, as the 
latter stopped. 

“ I was hurryin’,” Hummel gasped. “ I’m out 
o’ breath. I wants me job back.” 

“ You can’t have it. Now get out of these yards. 
If I catch you here again, I’ll have you run in.” 

Hummel’s face flushed, and he made a convul- 
sive movement forward, but stopped, as he heard 
rapid steps drawing near. 

“ Why, was it you who shouted, Jack?” asked 
Allan, in surprise, as the latter came running up. 
“ What was the matter ? ” 

“ I seen this feller sneakin’ acrost the yards after 
you,” Jack explained, apologetically, “ an’ I thought 
he meant trouble. I didn’t know he was a friend 
o’ yours.” 

“ I jest wanted t’ speak t’ him,” said Hummel, 
gruffly, and started to turn away. 

But Jack caught him by the arm. 


192 


EVENTS OF THE NIGHT 


“ Wait a minute/’ he said. “ Let’s look into 
this. Is he a friend o’ yours? ” 

“ No,” Allan answered. “ Quite the contrary. 
He’s a fellow I fired a while ago.” 

“ Oh,” said Jack, and looked at Hummel more 
closely. “ What’re ye holdin’ one hand behind 
your back for ? ” he demanded. “ Let’s see it ! ” 

He grabbed at the hidden hand, but at the same 
instant Hummel, supple as an eel, slipped from his 
grasp, ducked, and sped down the yards like a 
shadow. 

Jack and Allan stood for an instant staring after 
him. Then the former, with a sudden exclamation, 
raised his hand and looked at it. It was covered 
with blood. 

“I thought so!” he cried. “He had a knife! 
I saw it when he was runnin’ after you.” 

“Are you hurt?” and Allan, snatching out his 
handkerchief, wiped away the blood. 

“ Only a scratch. The knife got me when I 
grabbed at him. It’s nothin’. You go ahead, an’ 
I’ll see if I can find him.” 

Allan, examining the wound, saw that it was 
not a deep one. 

“ All right,” he said, wrapping his handkerchief 
about it. “ I’ll wait for you at the office.” 

Jack nodded and hastened away down the yards 
in the direction Hummel had taken. But search 
as he might, he found no trace of that worthy, who 


193 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


had dived in among a lot of box cars stored on the 
sidings, and made/ good his escape. 

Allan, meanwhile, continued on to his office, and 
sat thoughtfully .down before his desk. The inci- 
dent of the evening, his own narrow escape, en- 
lightened him ds to the danger of the situation. 
Calm as it appeared on the surface, it was perilous 
enough underneath, like a vast bed of lava, appar- 
ently cool and firm, but ready, at any pin-prick, 
to burst forth into white-hot flame. He shivered 
a little at thought of the days to follow and the 
problems they would present. 

But after a moment he shook such thoughts im- 
patiently away. Time enough to cross a bridge 
when he came to it. Now there were other matters 
demanding his attention. For, as the night pro- 
gressed, the load of sleet burdened the wires more 
and more heavily, until some gave way and the 
others sputtered and stuttered and sent operators 
and dispatchers alike to the verge of frenzy. 

Nothing disorganizes a railroad more quickly 
than impeded or inefficient wires, for the reason 
that its operation depends wholly upon its telegraph 
system. To interfere with that means inevitably 
to interfere with traffic, to obstruct it is to obstruct 
traffic, and to stop it is to stop traffic, or to compel 
it, at best, to creep painfully along from station 
to station with one flagman walking in front of 
every train and another following it a hundred 
194 


EVENTS OF THE NIGHT 


yards in the rear. It may be added that it was the 
telegraph which made modern railroading possible; 
and that it becomes impossible at the moment when 
the dispatcher at headquarters cannot, in some way, 
keep informed of the position of every train. 

So to-night with the wires chattering unintel- 
ligible nonsense instead of the usual crisp orders 
and reports, operators and dispatchers were at their 
wits’ ends, traffic was delayed, the schedule aban- 
doned and the only hope was that some way, some- 
how, they would get through the night without 
accident. 

Allan stood for a moment at the door of the 
dispatchers’ office listening to the crazy instruments. 

“ I’ve only got one wire left,” announced the 
dispatcher in charge of the Parkersburg division, 
“ and I might as well try to send a message over 
a piece of clothes line as over it. I haven’t any idea 
where that extra west is. It left Vigo half an hour 
ago, and hasn’t been seen since.” 

“ Where’s Number Two?” asked Allan. 

“ Number Two will be here in four or five min- 
utes,” answered the other dispatcher. 

“ And that freight ought to have been here ten 
minutes ago ! ” wailed the first speaker. “ Oh, it’s 
enough to drive a man crazy,” and he went on 
calling Schooley’s. 

The east bound flyer could not, of course, be per- 
mitted to leave Wadsworth until the west bound 
freight had pulled in, or had been definitely located. 

195 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


It was lost as completely as though it had wandered 
away to the farthest corner of the globe. 

Allan stood for a moment with a line of per- 
plexity between his eyebrows. Then he looked up 
with a sudden interest as he heard the faint click- 
click, click-click which told that the operator at 
Schooley’s had answered at last. 

“ How about extra west ? ” clicked the dis- 
patcher. 

“ Passed here at 9.22,” came the answer. 

Allan glanced at the clock. It was 9.47 ; in other 
words, the train had passed Schooley’s twenty-five 
minutes previously, and Schooley’s was only seven 
miles out. That seven miles should have been cov- 
ered in fifteen minutes at the outside. What, then, 
had happened to delay the train ? 

A long whistle in the distance told of the ap- 
proach of the flyer, and a minute later, it rumbled 
into the station and came wheezing to a stop. The 
train would stop for five minutes to change engines. 
That it should be held up longer than that by a 
freight train was heartrending. It was over half 
an hour late already, and Allan had hoped that some 
of this lost time might be made up on the run east 
to Parkersburg. 

“ There’s only one thing to be done,” he said, 
“ and that’s to flag out till we find that freight 
train,” and he hurried down the stairs to give the 
necessary orders. 

Already the new engine had been backed up and 
196 



5 ) 


HE EXPLAINED THE DIFFICULTY TO THE ENGINEER 

















































































EVENTS OF THE NIGHT 

coupled onto the train. Engineer and fireman were 
in their places, having been convoyed safely across 
the yards by two of Stanley’s men, who remained 
in the cab to see that they were not interfered with 
until the train should pull out. 

At the foot of the stairs, Allan met the con- 
ductor, Andy Leaveland, one of the oldest on the 
road. He was on his way up to register and get 
his orders, when Allan stopped him. 

“ I’ve got the orders, Mr. Leaveland,” he said. 
“ We’ll have to flag out.” 

“ Flag out ! ” cried the veteran. “ What’s the 
matter? Wires down?” 

“ There’s a freight lost somewhere between here 
and Schooley’s. We’ve got to find it. You’d bet- 
ter start your brakeman out right away.” 

“ All right,” said Leaveland, and hurried away, 
while Allan walked forward to the engine. 

He explained the difficulty to the engineer, and 
a minute later, the brakeman, armed with lantern, 
torpedoes and fusee, hurried past. Leaveland gave 
him time to get two or three hundred yards ahead, 
and then gave the signal to start. 

The train crawled slowly out through the yards, 
past the shops and the great coal chute, and finally 
emerged upon the main track. Far ahead, Allan 
could see the brakeman’s lantern bobbing along. 
The ice on the track rendered rapid walking impos- 
sible and more than once, the train was brought to 
a stop to give the brakeman a chance to maintain 
197 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


his distance. Back in the coaches, the passengers 
were fuming and fretting, while the conductor was 
doing his best to pacify them. 

“ We’re going mighty slow,” he said. “ Most 
roads would go faster. But this road don’t take 
any chances. We won’t get you through on time, 
but we’ll get you through safe and sound, without 
the slightest chance of accident. I guess if we put 
it to a vote, most of you would vote for safety 
rather than speed,” and he looked around at the 
passengers with a smile. 

“ You bet we would,” assented one of the men, 
and there was less grumbling after that. 

And yet there are few things more trying to the 
nerves than to ride in a train which may proceed 
no faster than a man can walk. An hour was con- 
sumed in covering five miles, and not a trace of the 
missing freight had been discovered. Another mile 
— and then Allan, staring forward through the 
night, saw the brakeman’s lantern waving vio- 
lently. 

“ He’s found something,” he said, and the engi- 
neer nodded. 

The next moment, a fusee flared redly through 
the darkness, lighting up the brakeman — and 
something on the track back of him — a dim 
shape — 

“ Why, it’s the train ! ” cried Allan. “ And with 
its headlight out! And with no brakeman out to 
protect it ! I don’t understand it ! ” And he sat 


198 


EVENTS OF THE NIGHT 


with his brows knitted in thought as the train 
rolled slowly forward. 

It stopped within thirty feet of the other train, 
and Allan swung himself to the ground and ran 
forward. 

“ What’s happened ? ” he asked the brakeman, 
who came to meet him. “ Where’s the crew? ” 

“ Blamed if I know,” answered the brakeman, 
in an awed voice. “ There’s the train, but nary 
a trace of her crew could I find. She’s deserted ! ” 


199 


CHAPTER XVIII 


THE DERELICT 

Drifting along the ocean currents of the world 
are scores of abandoned, water-logged ships, 
washed by the waves and buffeted by the winds, 
yet still, by some miracle, keeping afloat. Every 
one of them tells of some tragedy of the sea — 
of some supreme moment of peril, when, thinking 
the end at hand, the crew has taken to the boats 
and left their ship to its fate. And there is no 
peril of the deep more dreaded by mariners, for it 
is one that can not be foreseen nor guarded against. 
Lying low in the waves, heavy and water-logged, 
these hulks drift down upon a ship unseen in the 
watches of the night; there is a crash, a rush of 
water — and another tragedy has been enacted. 

Another tragedy which, only a few short years 
ago, too frequently meant the loss of the ship and 
every soul on board. How often has some stately 
vessel, thronged with happy people, set sail from a 
crowded harbour over a fair summer sea, upon a 
voyage seemingly certain to prove prosperous and 
pleasant — never to be seen again ! How agonized 
200 


THE DERELICT 


those first days of uncertainty when the ship did 
not appear at the port for which it had set sail. 
Days passed, and still no word from it; days and 
days, during which hope changed to doubt and 
doubt to despair; days and days, until finally men 
knew that it would never appear — that it had van- 
ished into the deep — that it had struck an iceberg 
or a derelict and sunk with all on board. 

But science, with its giant strides, has changed 
all that. The ship may go down, but at least she 
can give warning of her danger. For in a little 
cubby-hole on the upper deck, his hand upon his 
instrument, sits the wireless operator, flashing to 
the four winds of heaven the “ C. Q. D., C. Q. D.,” 
which tells of deadly peril and the need of instant 
aid. And every ship within a hundred miles, catch- 
ing that signal, turns in her tracks and speeds, full 
steam ahead, to render what aid she can. Truly, 
a fearful and wonderful thing, this wireless, with 
its slender filaments and lofty masts and bursts of 
ether-compelling flame, yoking to man’s service 
something more impalpable than the air itself, bind- 
ing ocean to ocean around the whole face of the 
earth. An accident may happen — that ship may 
go down — the derelict may do its deadly work — 
but at least the world will know. And if there is 
any vessel within reaching distance, the passengers 
will be saved ! Ill-fated Bourgogne , slowly settling 
beneath the icy waters off the Grand Banks, with 
aid just beyond the horizon, but all unconscious 
201 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


of her desperate need; ill-fated Naronic, lost with 
all on board, how or where for all time unsolved 
and unsolvable; ill-fated Republic sending forth 
her cry for aid through the night and through the 
fog, lost, indeed, but with every living soul saved 
uninjured — a new tale and a new wonder on his- 
tory’s page! 

But here was a derelict of a new kind — a dere- 
lict on land — no less deadly than the derelict on 
sea; standing four-square in the way of traffic, a 
threat and a mystery. 

Some such thought as this ran through Allan’s 
mind, as he stood for an instant staring in aston- 
ishment at the deserted train. Why was it here? 
Why had it been abandoned? What stress of peril 
was it had compelled its crew to leave it? What 
peril could there be to drive them not only from 
the train, but from the neighbourhood ? 1 The ques- 
tion staggered the reason. Above all, why had its 
headlight been extinguished ? That seemed to 
argue design — seemed to argue malicious intent 
— seemed to argue that the missing crew were 
deserters, traitors — as much a traitor as the sol- 
dier who deserts in the face of the enemy. 

And then, as the steam popped off from the aban- 
doned locomotive, he awoke with a start to the 
necessity for instant action. 

“ We’ve got to get that train in on a siding,” 
he said to the brakeman. “ We’ll have to back up 
202 


THE DERELICT 


to Schooley’s. It’s only a mile. Ask Leaveland 
and his engineer to come here right away.” 

As the fireman hurried away, Allan ran forward 
and swung himself up into the cab of the deserted 
engine. He glanced at the water gauge and saw 
that there was plenty of water in the boiler, but he 
opened the door of the firebox as an extra precau- 
tion. Evidently the engine had been abandoned 
only a short time before, for the fire was burning 
briskly. He saw that the brakes had been applied 
and the throttle closed — 

“ What’s the matter?” asked Leaveland’s voice. 
“ Is this the train ? ” 

“ Yes, this is the train, all right,” Allan an- 
swered, “ but I don’t see anything of the crew.” 

“ Well, I’ll be hanged ! ” and Leaveland scratched 
his head in perplexity. “ What do you suppose 
happened ? ” 

“ I don’t know. Let’s take a look at the ca- 
boose,” and jumping to the ground, he started back 
along the train. 

The door of the caboose was swinging open, 
and a glare of yellow light came through it from 
the oil lamp, with polished tin reflector back of it, 
which was attached to the front wall. Allan sprang 
up the steps, with Leaveland after him, and both 
of them stopped in astonishment at the open door. 
The caboose was empty, but two stools stood on the 
floor before the stove, and between them a box on 
which was a checker-board and checkers. Evi- 
203 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 

dently the conductor and rear brakeman had been 
playing together, but had been interrupted in their 
game and had left the board just as it was, ex- 
pecting to return to it. They had not returned, 
however, but had vanished as completely as though 
the earth had opened and swallowed them. 

“ Well, I’ll be hanged ! ” said Leaveland again. 
“ There’s something mighty queer about this. If I 
believed in ghosts, now — ” 

“ No, I don’t think it’s ghosts,” laughed Allan. 
“ But we can’t stop to investigate. We’d better 
couple the two engines together, and let Number 
Two push this train back to Schooley’s. You go 
ahead and have that done, and I’ll stay here. I’ll 
burn a fusee if I want you to stop, but I don’t think 
there’s any danger, because nothing will get past 
Schooley’s till this train has been accounted for.” 

“ All right, sir,” assented Leaveland, and hur- 
ried back toward the engine. 

Allan, left to himself, made a careful inspection 
of the caboose, but search as he might, he could 
find nothing that shed the slightest light upon the 
disappearance of the train crew. It was evident 
that there had been no struggle of any kind. He 
found the conductor’s report made up ready to turn 
in at the end of the trip, and his lantern and dinner- 
pail on the floor near the door. The more he ex- 
amined the surroundings the plainer it was that 
when the conductor and brakeman left the caboose, 
they had expected to return to it in a minute or 
204 


THE DERELICT 


two. And that they had left it only a short time 
before was evident from the fact that the fire in 
their stove had just been renewed and was burning 
briskly. 

He gave up the problem, at last, and getting a 
fusee out of the box where they were kept, he 
stepped out upon the rear platform. As he did so, 
he heard the cars of the train buckling toward him, 
and an instant later the caboose caught the motion 
and started slowly up the track toward Schooley’s. 
The mile was soon covered, and the train, coming 
to a stop just outside the little town, was run in 
on a siding, while the flyer proceeded on to the 
station. There Allan reported it, secured orders 
for it, and sent it on its way. Then he proceeded 
to try to solve the mystery of the abandoned freight 
train. 

But there was little or nothing to be learned con- 
cerning it more than he already knew. It had 
passed through Schooley’s without stopping, and 
the operator there had observed nothing wrong with 
it. After half an hour’s inquiry, Allan gave it up, 
ordered another crew sent out from Wadsworth, 
and finally, after reporting the occurrence to Stan- 
ley, turned in at his own gate about midnight, very 
tired and not a little worried. 

As he entered the house, he was surprised to see 
a light burning in the dining-room, and he opened 
the door softly and looked in. For a moment, he 
saw no one, and thinking that the room was empty 
205 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


and that the light had simply been left burning for 
him, he was about to turn it out, when his eyes fell 
upon a figure curled up on the lounge which stood 
against the wall under the windows. 

“Why, it’s Mamie!” he said, half to himself, 
and took a step toward her. “ I wonder — ” 

And then he stopped suddenly, for, awakened by 
the noise of his entrance or by the consciousness 
of his presence, she opened her eyes and looked at 
him. 

For a moment, she lay so, looking up, her lips 
parted in a smile. Then, with a quick move- 
ment, she brushed her hand over her eyes and sat 
upright, her cheeks crimson with a strange con- 
fusion. 

“ Why, Allan ! ” she cried. “ Do you know, I 
— I must have been asleep ! ” 

“ Yes/’ he agreed, laughing. “ I don’t think 
there’s any doubt of it. Since when have you 
taken to sleeping on this lounge ? ” 

“ I wasn’t at all sleepy to-night,” Mamie ex- 
plained, “ and I knew it wasn’t any use to go to 
bed, so I thought I’d read awhile till I got sleepy 
or till you — till you — ” 

“ Or till I got home,” said Allan, finishing the 
sentence for her. “ Admit, Mamie, that you were 
sitting up for me ! ” 

“Yes, I was!” confessed the girl, raising her 
eyes for one swift glance at him. “ Dad came 
home and told about that horrid man trying to kill 
206 


THE DERELICT 


you, and I — I just couldn’t stand it to go to bed 
without seeing you.” 

Allan took a quick turn up and down the room. 
That shy and timorous glance had moved him 
strangely, as did the faltering words which fol- 
lowed it. 

“ Suppose he had killed you ! ” she added, with 
a little gasp of horror at the thought. 

“ But he didn’t,” said Allan, coming back to her. 
“ So what’s the use of supposing anything of the 
sort?” 

“ Dad says he’ll be sure to try it again. Dad 
says — ” 

“ Dad says altogether too much,” broke in Allan. 
“ Now, see here, Mamie, I’m not going to have 
you worried like this. Wait till I see your father! ” 

“ Oh, but I want him to tell me ! If you’re in 
danger, I want to know it ! ” 

“ But I’m not in any danger — as for that affair 
with Hummel, it happened so long ago that I’d 
nearly forgotten it.” 

“ So long ago ! ” cried Mamie. “ Why, it was 
only this evening ! ” 

“ Well, so much has happened since. Mamie, 
I’m worried to death,” he added, with sudden weak- 
ness. “ The queerest thing happened to-night you 
ever heard of.” 

“ Tell me about it,” said Mamie, her face glow- 
ing with pleasure at this call for sympathy and 
help; and she patted the lounge invitingly. I fear 
207 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


there was some instinct of the coquette in Mamie, 
or she would not have done that ! Some true 
womanly instinct, too, or she would not have so 
welcomed this chance to be of help. 

Allan sat down, his pulses not wholly steady, 
and told of the strange disappearance of the crew 
of the extra west, while Mamie listened spell-bound. 

“Well, if that doesn’t beat anything I ever 
heard ! ” she cried, when he had finished. “ What 
do you suppose happened ? ” 

“ I haven’t any idea. Only I’m sure the strik- 
ers must have had something to do with it. I’m 
going to take Stanley out to look the place over in 
the morning. Maybe we’ll discover something. 
Stanley is pretty shrewd, you know.” 

“ But if the strikers had something to do with 
it,” Mamie protested, “ maybe they will be there 
yet ! And you will walk right into them ! ” 

“ Well? ” laughed Allan. “ What if I do? In- 
deed, I hope I will ! ” 

“ Oh, but think what they will do to you ! ” 
“They won’t do anything very bad! We’re 
not living in the Middle Ages, Mamie. I believe 
you think we’re going to find the bloody corpses of 
that train crew out there in a ditch, somewhere!” 
“ But if they aren’t dead, where are they? ” 

“ Kidnapped. The strikers are taking that 
method of getting our men away from us.” 

Mamie thought it over a minute, and then shook 
her head. 


208 


THE DERELICT 


“ Maybe you’re right,” she said, “ but it seems 
to me that the strikers would be pretty foolish to 
do anything like that. Suppose they do take a 
crew, that won’t matter much, will it ? ” 

“ No; not one crew; but suppose they keep on 
taking them ? ” 

Mamie stared at him with wide-open eyes. 

“ Do you mean that’s what you think they’ll 
do?” she questioned. 

“ I don’t know — it’s a thought that came to 
me. But it seems foolish, too. Well, we’ll find out 
in the morning. And now you must be getting to 
bed. How about the beauty sleep? ” , r 

“ Beauty sleep, indeed ! ” cried Mamie, tossing 
her head. “ I don’t need any beauty sleep ! ” 

“ No, you don’t!” agreed Allan, gazing at the 
piquant face. “ Do you know, Mamie, you’re 
growing up into the prettiest girl imaginable ! ” 

“ Growing up ! ” echoed Mamie. “ I’ve grown 
up ! Why, I’m nearly seventeen ! ” 

“ A tremendous age ! ” 

“ Old enough to know you’re talking nonsense ! ” 
she retorted, but with the colour coming and going 
in her cheeks. 

“ I’m not! ” he protested. “ It’s true! If I was 
younger, Mamie, I’d be falling in love with you ! ” 
"Younger!” 

“ I’m twenty-seven.” 

“ A tremendous age ! ” she echoed, glancing up 
at him. 


209 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 

“ Ten years older than you ! ” 

“ Pooh ! What's ten years ? ” 

“ Well, it's a good deal/' said Allan, rising with 
an effort. “ And I feel considerably older than 
twenty-seven to-night — more like forty! You can 
keep on sitting up, if you want to, but I’m going 
to bed. Good-night.” 

Mamie had risen too, a strange light in her eyes. 
She watched him as he turned away, and then, 
when his hand was on the knob of the door, she 
called him. 

“ Allan. 

“Yes? ” he said, turning and looking at her. 

The lamplight sent little mocking shadows across 
her face and brought out the glint of gold in her 
hair. He held on to the door-knob to keep from 
going back to her. 

“ Promise me you’ll not run into any danger,” 
she said, softly. 

“Of course I won’t — not unless I have to.” 

“ Not even if you have to! ” 

“What — run away?” he demanded, staring at 
her in astonishment. “ You wouldn’t have me do 
that, Mamie?” 

“ No,” she said, “ I wouldn’t have you do that! 
Good night, Allan.” 

“ Good night,” he repeated, and opened the door 
and went resolutely up the stair to his room. 

And Mamie, standing listening until the sound 


210 


THE DERELICT 


of hi9 steps died away, at last flung herself down 
upon the lounge and buried her face in her arms. 
Her eyes were wet with tears — but they were tears 
of joy. 


211 


CHAPTER XIX 


THE OLD STONE HOUSE 

It is doubtful if any sensation had ever stirred 
the staid little town of Wadsworth from centre to 
circumference as did the news to which it awoke 
next morning. The story of the missing train 
crew, of the mysteriously abandoned train, flew 
from mouth to mouth, gaining always in the tell- 
ing some thrilling detail, the generally accepted 
version being that the strikers had wrecked the 
train and butchered the crew, the conductor and 
brakeman perishing in trying to protect the “ scab ” 
engineer and fireman. There was no one to worry 
especially about the latter, for they were strangers 
whose names were not even known, but the con- 
ductor and the two brakemen all had families, to 
say nothing of relatives and friends, and all of 
these were very properly exercised. 

Allan, foreseeing this excitement, reached his 
office almost at daybreak, but early as it was, he 
found three excited women awaiting him, demand- 
ing information, hope, encouragement. Of infor- 
mation he had little to give, but of hope and en- 
couragement a-plenty. 


212 


THE OLD STONE HOUSE 


“ There’s absolutely no reason why you should 
be s'o worried,” he told them, when he got them 
into his office and the door closed. “Your hus- 
bands haven’t been injured in any way — I’m sure 
of it. They’ll be back safe and sound in a day or 
two.” 

“ What makes you think they haven’t been 
hurt? ” demanded one of the women. “ You don't 
really know, do you ? ” 

“ No, I don’t really know. But it’s absurd to 
believe anything else.” 

“ But who did it? ” 

“ I don’t know.” 

“ But you suspect ! Oh, if I thought it was the 
strikers, I’d — I’d tear their eyes out ! ” 

And the other two women added that they would 
be glad to help. 

“ Now, see here,” broke in Allan, realizing that 
forceful measures were necessary, “ we mustn’t 
have any nonsense of that sort. I don’t know 
whether it was the strikers or not — there’s nothing 
to show it was. If it was, they’ll be punished — 
trust me for that. If it wasn’t, let’s not accuse 
them. I want you to promise to leave this thing 
in my hands. We’re going to do everything pos- 
sible to clear it up. I want you to promise me to 
go home and stay there and not do any talking for 
forty-eight hours.” 

“ And if we do, what will you promise? ” 

Allan hesitated an instant. 


213 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 

“ I’ll promise,” he said, drawing a deep breath, 
“ that in forty-eight hours the men will be back 
again.” 

They gazed at him a moment — at the clear eyes, 
the firm lips, the determined jaw — and something 
of his self-confidence communicated itself to them. 
And they promised and left the office in much bet- 
ter spirits than when they had entered it. 

Almost before the door closed after them, Allan 
had summoned Stanley, and while waiting for that 
worthy to appear, gave Orders that no information 
concerning the mystery, or concerning anything 
else connected with the strike should be given out 
by anyone but himself. He wanted to be left free, 
for a few hours, at least, to work on the case in his 
own way. 

Stanley, evidently knowing what was in the 
wind, lost no time in obeying the summons. Allan 
told him, briefly, the story of the mystery, and laid 
before him the theory which he had mentioned to 
Mamie the night before — that this was only a 
preliminary move on the part of the strikers. Stan- 
ley listened in silence, and sat for a moment think- 
ing it over when Allan had finished. 

“ I don’t know,” he said, at last. “ I can’t say 
I think much of your theory. It looks to me like a 
mighty bold thing for the strikers to do — an’ 
what’s worse, a mighty foolish 'one. They can’t 
hope to capture enough men to really cripple us. 
Where would they keep them ? ” 

214 


THE OLD STONE HOUSE 


“ Fm sure I don’t know. But what other ex- 
planation can there be ? ” 

“ Well/’ said Stanley, “ I’m always in favour of 
the simplest explanation. Maybe the whole thing 
was just a plain robbery. Were the car seals ex- 
amined after the train got in? ” 

“ Yes — I’d thought of that. None of the seals 
were broken.” 

“ It ain’t so much of a trick t’ doctor a seal, if 
a feller’s fixed for it,” Stanley observed. 

“ But suppose it was a robbery — where is the 
crew? Nobody would want to steal them?” 

“ I’d like to look over the ground before I do 
any more guessing,” said Stanley. “ Why can’t 
I run out there? Everything’s quiet here and I 
can be back by night.” 

“ Just what I was thinking of,” agreed Allan. 
“ And I’m going with you. We can take the ac- 
commodation — I’ll get the Conductor to drop us 
off at the place we found the train.” 

“ All right,” said Stanley, rising. “ I’ll just run 
over to the freight-house an’ give my men a few 
Orders. I’ll be back in five minutes.” 

“ We’ve got fifteen,” said Allan, glancing at his 
watch. “ I’ll meet you down On the platform.” 
Then he called the office-boy from the outer room. 
“ Jim,” he said, “ I’m going to be busy for a while 
and don’t want to be disturbed. See that I’m 
not.” 

“ All right, sir,” said Jim, and retired to take 
215 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


his stand before the door, like Cerberus before the 
gate of Hades. 

For the next ten minutes, Allan devoted his 
whole mind to clearing away the accumulated work 
which piled his desk. Fortunately, he had an in- 
telligent and efficient stenographer, and tossed the 
last letter to him just as the accommodation pulled 
in. 

“ That’s all,” he said. “ I’m going out to 
Schooley’s. You can catch me there, if you need 
me, but I’ll probably be back by the middle of the 
afternoon. Hello ! ” he added, as he reached for 
coat and hat, “what’s all that noise?” 

And, indeed, from the sounds, it seemed that a 
riot of some sort was taking place in the outer 
office. 

Allan flung open the door, and paused, amazed, 
on the threshold. For a dozen men rushed at him 
with a violence which almost carried him off his 
feet. 

“Here; hold On!” he shouted. “What’s the 
matter with you fellows, anyway ? ” 

“We want to know — ” 

“ Everybody says see you — ” 

“We must have the story — ” 

“ Oh, reporters ! ” cried Allan, suddenly under- 
standing. “ I can’t give you anything now, boys ; 
I’ve got to catch a train. I’ll give you the whole 
story as soon as I get back.” 

“ When will that be? ” 


216 


THE OLD STONE HOUSE 


“ Sometime this afternoon.” 

“ But, look here,” began one of the men desper- 
ately; but Allan tore his way through and sprang 
down the steps two at a time. 

At the foot, another man was waiting for him, 
and Allan recognized the special delegate. 

“ See here, Mr. West,” he began, excitedly, “ I 
understand the Brotherhood’s accused of having a 
hand in this thing, and I just want to say to you 
that it didn’t — ” 

“ All right,” said Allan, and swung himself 
on to the rear platform of the train. “ I’ll be back 
this afternoon. Drop in and talk it over.” 

“ I will. There isn’t a bit of truth in the — ” 

But the delegate’s voice was drowned by the 
rumble of the train as it started. 

Allan, entering the coach, found Stanley await- 
ing him. They dropped into a seat together. 

“ Well, did they get you ? ” asked the detective, 
grinning. 

“ I managed to break away. But I nearly missed 
the train. Then that fellow in charge of the strike 
held me up to say the Brotherhood hadn’t anything 
to do with this thing.” 

“ Oh, no,” said Stanley, “ tof course the Brother- 
hood didn’t. But that isn’t saying that none of its 
members did.” 

The conductor came up at that moment and 
stopped for a moment’s chat. 

“We want to drop off about a mile and a half 
217 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 

this side of Schooley’s,” said Allan. “ I'll show 
you the place.” 

“ All right. Going out to look over the 
ground? ” 

“Yes; and to solve the riddle if we can. By 
the way, I’m glad to see the conductors and brake- 
men still at work. I hope you’re going to stick.” 

“ Well,” answered the other, “ we had a meeting 
last night, but of course I can’t tell you what hap- 
pened there. I can say this, though — you don’t 
need to lose any sleep over it yet awhile.” 

“ That’s good,” said Allan, his cheeks flushing 
with pleasure. “ Here we are ! ” he added, as he 
glanced out the window. 

The conductor pulled the signal cord sharply 
and Allan and Stanley dropped off as the train’s 
speed slackened. Then the conductor gave the go- 
ahead signal, and the train sped eastward on its 
way. 

They had been carried a little past the place 
where the derelict had been discovered. Allan led 
the way back, pointed out the spot, as nearly as he 
could — very nearly, however, for he found the 
fusee which the fireman had burnt — and then sat 
down 'on the bank beside the roadway, while Stan- 
ley prowled up and down like some sort of wild 
beast. His great hooked nose seemed to grow 
longer and more hooked, and his little close-set eyes 
sparkled with a strange brilliancy. For Stanley was 
really a man of considerable ability and had been 
218 


THE OLD STONE HOUSE 


successful in clearing up more than one abstruse 
problem. Allan watched him with a good deal of 
curiosity, and the thought came to him that he 
would not care to have this fellow on his trail. 

“ I can’t make much out of it,” Stanley said at 
last, stopping before Allan. “ Let’s look around 
the neighbourhood a little.” 

The track, at this point, ran along a shallow cut, 
the bank on either side rising to a height of two or 
three feet. The right of way, about twenty-five 
feet in width, was bordered by rail fences, and back 
of them was a stretch of scrubby woodland. Stan- 
ley, walking slowly along the bank On the left, 
stopped suddenly and pointed to the ground. 

“ Look at that,” he said. “ There’s been a 
wagon here. Two wagons,” he added, a moment 
later, pointing to other traces. 

“ To take the prisoners away in,” ventured Allan. 

“ Maybe, maybe,” muttered his companion. 
“ And maybe to take something else away in. Let’s 
see where they went.” 

The tracks could be followed without difficulty 
in the soft earth. They led to a break in one of the 
fences and on through the strip of woodland to a 
road on the farther side. There they turned west- 
ward and were lost amid the ruts of the road. 

“ Well,” said Stanley, stopping and looking 
along it, “ I think, if you don’t mind, that I’d like 
to spend a day or two trying to run those fellows 
down. I don’t see that I’m needed back at Wads- 


219 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


worth — everything’s quiet there, and my men 
know their business. Besides, you can keep an eye 
on them. This affair kind of worries me. There’s 
more in it than appears on the surface. What do 
you say ? ” 

“ All right,” Allan agreed. “ I’d like to have 
this thing cleared up. Do you think you can do 
it?” 

“ I can try, anyway,” said Stanley. “ And I’ll 
start right away. I don’t want the trail to get any 
colder. Good by.” 

“ Good by,” said Allan ; “ and good luck.” 

He stood watching Stanley’s gaunt figure until 
it disappeared around a turn in the road, wishing 
absurdly that he could go along; then he turned 
eastward toward the little station of Schooley’s, a 
mile or more away. The road was one evidently 
not much used, for it was rutted and uneven and in 
poor repair. The fall and winter rains had washed 
it badly, and evidently no effort had been made to 
repair it. In fact, it soon grew so bad that Allan 
began to doubt whether it was anything more than 
a private road. The trees on either side grew 
closer and closer to it, there was no vestige of a 
fence, and after a time it became apparent that its 
direction had changed so that it was not leading 
him toward Schooley’s at all. A glance at the sun 
showed him that it was past midday, and his stom- 
ach began to warn him that he had eaten nothing 
since breakfast early that morning. 

220 « 


THE OLD STONE HOUSE 

He stopped for a moment in perplexity and con- 
sidered what he would better do. He might strike 
off into the woods in the direction in which he 
thought Schooley’s to be, but he was by no means 
certain of the direction, and the most probable result 
of such a course would be to get lost and miss his 
way entirely. The road he was following must cer- 
tainly lead to a house; there were wagon tracks 
and hoof-prints on it which seemed fresh, so he 
concluded that the best thing he could do was to 
push forward as rapidly as possible, find the house 
to which the road led, and then, if he was any con- 
siderable distance from Schooley’s, hire a vehicle of 
some sort to take him on to his destination. 

He walked on more rapidly, after that, following 
the road as it turned and twisted among the trees. 
The ground grew uneven and at last actually hilly, 
and the road grew worse and worse. Allan began 
to fear that it led only to a wood-lot or outlying 
field, and was more than once tempted to turn back, 
seek the railroad track and follow it into Schooley’s. 
But always he resolved to go around the next corner 
and the next, and finally his perseverance was re- 
warded. 

For there, almost hidden behind a screen of trees, 
with hills protecting it on either side, stood an old 
stone house. 

Heartened by this discovery, Allan hurried for- 
ward, and yet, as he drew near, he hesitated, for 
there was about the place something indescribably 
221 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 

desolate and dreary — something almost threaten- 
ing. The windows across the front of the house 
were all closed by heavy shutters. There were five 
of them, one on either side of the door in the lower 
story, and three in the story above. The house was 
square and solidly built, but had fallen into neglect 
and decay. The roof was covered with moss, and 
the path to the front door broken and uneven. 
There was a tumble-down barn some distance back 
of it and one or two other decrepit outbuildings, 
from which, however, came no sign of life. 

Allan, for a moment, thought the house deserted, 
too ; then his eyes caught a faint streamer of smoke 
which drifted sluggishly upward from one of the 
chimneys, and, encouraged by this sign lof human 
occupancy, he hastened forward and knocked at the 
front door. 

There was no response, and he knocked again 
more loudly. Still there was no response, though 
he fancied that he detected a sort of uneasy move- 
ment inside the house, as though some one were 
moving cautiously along the hall, and he had a sen- 
sation as though some one was staring out at him. 
It was a sensation anything but pleasant, as every 
one who has experienced it knows, and it required 
no little resolution for him to carry his quest 
further. But he resolutely shook away the feeling 
Of uneasiness, and, leaving the front door, he pro- 
ceeded around the house, determined to try a door 


222 


THE OLD STONE HOUSE 


at the back. He knew that there was some one in 
the house and he determined to have him out. 

He found the rear of the house even more dilapi- 
dated and forbidding than the front. A ramshackle 
porch ran across the back, in the last stages of de- 
cay, its floor rotted through and its roof falling in. 
Near by was an old pump which had evidently 
yielded no water for many years. This did not 
seem to indicate that the house was occupied, but 
Allan picked his way carefully across the porch, 
and knocked at the back door. Again there was 
silence. He banged with his closed fist, and when 
there was no response, he tried the door, rattling 
the knob fiercely. But the door was locked. And 
then, suddenly, it seemed to him that he could hear 
a confused sound of voices, faint and far away. 
He listened intently, and banged the door again, 
and again there came that confused murmur. After 
all it might be only an echo, Allan told himself ; no 
doubt the house was cavernous and empty, and 
would re-echo strangely to any sound. Or the house 
might be full of bats — or some strange creature 
might have its dwelling place there. 

He crossed the porch again and breathed a little 
easier as he stood once more in the open air. 
Plainly, there was nothing for him to do but retrace 
his steps to the railroad and follow it in to Schoo- 
ley’s. He sighed at thought of the weary way he 
had to go. 


223 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


“ I’ll have a look at the barn, first,” he murmured 
to himself, and started toward it. 

It was perhaps a hundred feet back of the house, 
and leaned so dangerously to one side that it seemed 
in danger of falling at any moment. There were 
two doors, a large one running upon an overhead 
rail, and a smaller one swinging upon hinges. He 
tried the smaller one first, and found that it yielded 
to his touch. Swinging it open, he stepped inside 
the barn. 

“ Hello! ” he called. “ Is there any one here? ” 

There was no response, but he fancied that he 
heard a faint rustling at the farther end of the 
structure. For a moment, in the semidarkness, he 
could see nothing, then, as his eyes grew more ac- 
customed to it, he saw that the place was empty. 
The stalls on either side had fallen to decay, the 
roof had rotted away in places and the floor was 
wet and mucky and covered with an ill-smelling 
litter. There had at one time been a loft, but the 
planks which had composed the flooring had disap- 
peared, stolen no doubt by some one in the neigh- 
bourhood. Only at the farther end did he find any 
indication of recent occupancy. Here in the man- 
gers were some fresh cobs from which the corn had 
evidently been eaten only a short time before, and 
the floor was covered with a litter of straw, which 
was tramped and soiled, indeed, but which was still 
comparatively clean. Farther on, two boards had 
been laid across a manger and piled with straw, 
224 


THE OLD STONE HOUSE 


which was pressed down as though it had been used 
for a bed. It was from this, Allan concluded, that 
the rustling had proceeded, doubtless from some 
rats running through it. 

Satisfied that it was useless to look further, Allan 
turned back toward the door. He was tired and 
discouraged. He felt that the day had been wasted. 
The mystery of the abandoned train was no nearer 
solution than it had been, unless Stanley — 

What was it sent a sudden chill through him? 
What was it brought him with a start out of this 
reverie ? 

He turned his head with a jerk and threw up his 
arm instinctively, as a dark shadow seemed to loom 
over him ; then a great blow fell upon his head, the 
world reeled and turned black before him, and he 
fell forward limply upon his face. 


225 


CHAPTER XX 


m 

THE AWAKENING 

At Wadsworth, the day had passed quietly 
enough, so far, at least, as appearances went. The 
strikers gathered in groups in the neighbourhood of 
the station, and watched the trains go in and out, 
with the new engineers and firemen in the cabs, 
but they made no attempt to interfere with them, 
beyond an occasional jeer. Simpson, the special 
delegate from the grand lodge, had established his 
headquarters in the lodge room, and a little group 
of men was constantly about him, talking over the 
situation. It was noticeable that this group was 
composed of the older and more experienced men, 
and it was evident that whatever Simpson had to 
say had a great deal of weight with them. 

Simpson, as has been said, was a very different 
man from Nixon. There was nothing flashy or 
loud about him, his voice was low, but cool and 
decisive, and his gray eyes gave one the impression 
that their owner was a fighter — an impression 
which was further deepened by the long, cloven 
226 


THE AWAKENING 


chin. In a word, the grand secretary had picked 
out the very best man at his disposal when the de- 
mand had come for a delegate to succeed Nixon, 
for he felt that there must be no possibility of the 
situation at Wadsworth being bungled a second 
time. 

“ There’s one thing sure, however,” he had said 
to Simpson, at parting; “they’re bound to have a 
strike down there now, and there’s probably no way 
to stop it.” 

And Simpson had found this to be true. To have 
attempted to withstand the white hot fervour for a 
strike would have been worse than foolish, and he 
had yielded to it and called the strike. Now he was 
bending every effort to make the strike a success; 
or, at worst, to get out of the situation with as 
little loss of prestige as possible. 

But the strike had not tied up the road as he had 
hoped it would. Conductors and brakemen had re- 
fused to go out without instructions from head- 
quarters; switchmen and operators had not even 
asked for such instructions. And trains were run- 
ning regularly, manned by a lot of new men who 
seemed fairly efficient. If the strike had started 
out with a mistake, Simpson was resolved that no 
others should be committed — especially not the 
fatal mistake of violence. And so he was taking 
care to establish himself in the liking and confidence 
of the older and more conservative men. If it came 
to a fight, he must be certain of his backing. 

227 , 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


Over at the freight-house, the new men had got 
settled in their quarters and seemed fairly contented 
with them. If truth were told, sordid and unat- 
tractive as the surroundings were, most of the men 
had been accustomed to much worse. The food, 
too, however carelessly served, was at least clean 
and wholesome, and only a person unused to any- 
thing but china and snowy linen would have quar- 
relled with the tin dishes and oil-cloth covered 
tables. 

It was evident that the principal source of dis- 
turbance had been removed when Hummel had been 
compelled to leave the place; and yet there was no 
telling when a second Hummel might arise and 
leaven the entire group of men with discontent. In- 
deed, it was evident that many of them were not 
wholly at ease. In the midst of these unusually 
comfortable surroundings, they perhaps felt the 
same sense of disquiet which Jean Valjean felt in 
the Bishop’s bed; they were accustomed to a plank 
and could not sleep well upon springs and a mat- 
tress; but this was not the sort of disquiet which 
would lead to any serious results. 

And yet Reddy, who kept a keener eye than ever 
upon events in Stanley’s absence, was not altogether 
satisfied. Indeed, Stanley’s absence of itself puz- 
zled him. Orders had been given that the adven- 
ture of the abandoned train was to be kept quiet as 
long as possible, and no word concerning it had 
been breathed inside the freight-house. So, as the 
228 


THE AWAKENING 


day wore on, Reddy grew more and more uneasy, 
especially when he noted that Allan was also away. 
He suspected that something was wrong some- 
where, and it annoyed him that he should be shut 
up like this, away from all communication with his 
fellow creatures. Certainly, he did not consider 
the cook a fellow creature, and, in spite of himself, 
he could not help feeling a sort of pitying contempt 
for the strike-breakers. For Reddy was honest, 
was industrious, was temperate, and he felt that 
few of the strike-breakers were any of these things. 

“ An’ a fine figger you cut here, don’t you,” he 
went on, following this train of thought, “ washin’ 
dishes an’ makin’ beds an’ waitin’ on table, like a 
saloon loafer, instead o’ doin’ an honest man’s 
work! I’m goin’ t’ throw up the job. I ain’t doin’ 
no good here. These fellers are as contented as 
a lot o’ hogs in the sunshine. I’ll jest tell Allan — ” 
“ Say ! ” suddenly bawled a voice in his ear, “ air 
ye goin’ t’ sleep on yer feet? Wake up, an’ git a 
move ! ” and a heavy hand struck him a hard blow 
On the shoulder. 

Reddy turned with a start, and the dish he was 
wiping slipped from his hands to the floor. Of 
course it did not break, as it was made of tin, but 
it made a tremendous clatter. 

(f Stoopid ! ” yelled the cook, sticking his red face 
within a few inches of Reddy’s and waving his arms 
violently. “ Awkward ! I never saw nothin’ to 
beat you! You’re the limit! ” 

229 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 

“ Aw, shut up/’ growled Reddy, not yielding an 
inch. 

“ An’ you calls yerself a dish-washer — ” 

•“No, I don’t,” broke in Reddy. “An’ I never 
will now that I’ve seen you ! ” 

“ What ! ” shouted the cook, growing purple. 
“ I’ll show you — ” and his arm was drawn back 
to strike. 

But at that instant, Reddy’s fist was raised with 
seeming slowness and gentleness under the other’s 
jaw, and the cook, lifted by some mysterious force 
cleanly off his feet, struck the floor with a thud. 

“ Good for you, turnip-top ! ” yelled one of the 
strike-breakers, as they came crowding around, at- 
tracted by the noise of the altercation. 

“ Get up, cookie, get up! ” yelled another. “ You 
ain’t out yet — don’t show yellow ! ” 

And Reddy, fairly dancing with rage, added his 
insults to the others’. 

“ Strike a gentleman, would ye ! ” he cried. 
“ Don’t lay there blinkin’ like that ! Stand up an’ 
take yer medicine like a man. Here, I’ll bring ye 
around ! ” and snatching the pan of dirty dish water 
from the table, he dashed it 'over his recumbent foe. 

A roar of laughter arose from the spectators; 
this was the sort of thing most of them delighted 
in ; but their merriment acted on Reddy like a cold 
shower. He took one glance at them and then 
fiercely tore off the ragged piece of burlap he had 
been using as an apron. 


230 


THE AWAKENING 


“ An’ now I’ll bid ye good-bye,” he said. “ I 
was jest thinkin’ o’ quittin’ — this job don’t suit 
me,” and catching up his hat, he plunged through 
the door and past the astonished guard on the plat- 
form outside. 

“Stop me if ye dare!” cried Reddy, and took 
off his hat and threw it high in the air, but the 
guard, recognizing him, turned away with a grin. 
“ My, but it does feel good t’ be out in the air again 
an’ away from them dishes. I never knew before 
how good air smelt.” 

He filled his lungs to the limit and exhaled 
slowly, feeling as though a great weight had been 
lifted from his shoulders. Then he stopped and 
looked about the yards. 

“ Not much doin’,” he added, seeing the empty 
sidings; and, indeed, for fear it could not fulfil its 
engagements, the road was routing all the freight 
business possible through Columbus by way of the 
Midland division, instead of through Wadsworth, 
and was even handing some of it over to competing 
lines. “ Why, hello, Jack! ” he cried, as Jack Welsh 
suddenly turned the corner of the freight-house. 

Jack stared at him in astonishment. 

“ Is it you, Reddy? ” he asked. “ When did you 
get out ? ” 

“ Faith,” said Reddy, his eyes twinkling, “ it 
sounds like I’d been in the workhouse an’ me niver 
arrested in me life ! I’ve throwed up me job.” 

“ Throwed up your job? ” 

231 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


“ Since when have ye turned into an echo? ” de- 
manded Reddy. 

Jack laughed. 

“ I was too surprised t’ say anything original. 
What was the trouble ? ” 

“ I couldn’t stand it — I couldn’t stand them 
vermin, nor washin’ dishes nor makin’ beds fer ’em 
— nor I couldn’t stand that varmint of a cook. He 
got smart,” went on Reddy, growing angry again at 
thought of it, “ so I jest upper-cut him an’ throwed 
some dish water on him an’ come away.” 

“ But,” protested Jack, “ what will Allan say?” 

“ I don’t care what he says,” retorted Reddy, 
doggedly. “ I ain’t needed in there — them fellers 
is like a flock of sheep — feed ’em an’ water ’em an’ 
they’ll never give any trouble. Besides, where is 
Allan — an’ where’s Stanley ? Is there trouble 
somewheres, Jack?” 

“ Ain’t you heard about extra west last night ? ” 

“ Nary a word — a felly might as well be in his 
grave as in that freight-shed. What about extra 
west? ” 

So Jack told him the story of the abandoned 
train and missing crew, while Reddy stood listening 
with starting eyes and open mouth. 

“ Well, if that don’t beat anything I ever heard ! ” 
he said, when Jack had finished. “ But Allan and 
Stanley wasn’t there — ” 

“ No; they went out this mornin’ t’ look over the 


232 


THE AWAKENING 

ground. They was expectin’ t’ come back this ar- 
ternoon.” 

A sudden shadow seemed to pass across Reddy’s 
face. 

“ What’s the matter?” asked Jack, noticing it. 

“ I was jest thinkin’,” said Reddy, speaking with 
some difficulty, “ that I’d ’a’ liked to gone along.” 

“ So would I, but I wasn’t asked.” 

“ Well, good-bye,” Reddy said, turning away. 
“ I’ve got t’ go home an’ see my missus, an’ git a 
decent meal. Jack,” he added, stopping and look- 
ing back, “ if they don’t come back, let’s go out 
ourselves in the mornin’.” 

“ Oh, they’ll be back,” said Jack, confidently. 
“ Allan, anyway. He knows he’s needed here.” 

But the cloud had not lifted from Reddy’s face, 
as he walked away across the yards in the direction 
of his home. 

The afternoon passed, and nothing was heard 
from either Allan or Stanley; evening felf, and 
still no sign of them. The disappointed reporters 
champed and swore and tried to inveigle the story 
out of some of the other employees of the office, but 
in vain; and finally, driven to desperation, they 
concocted such accounts of the affair as their several 
imaginations were capable of. 

One thing they knew. The road’s chief dis- 
patcher and detective were absent. From an ab- 


233 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


sence to a disappearance is but a step, and it was 
with a certain satisfaction that they played up this 
feature of the case. At least, they would get even 
with West for trying to keep the news away from 
them. They described his career, his appearance, 
dwelt upon Stanley’s well-known prowess and fear- 
lessness, and drew the conclusion that something 
extraordinary must have occurred to get the best 
of him. It made a good story, and the public read 
and was interested and mystified and wondered lan- 
guidly how it would all turn out — and passed on 
to the next sensation. 

But in one home, at least, as the weary hours of 
the night wore on, there was something more than 
languid interest and wonder. From her snowy 
bed, Mamie Welsh lay staring up into the darkness, 
her face flushed and feverish, her eyes red with 
weeping, striving to suppress the sobs which shook 
her, so that her mother might not hear and under- 
stand. 

For she knew, by a sort of clairvoyance, as 
though his spirit called through space to hers, that 
Allan West lay somewhere in great peril. 

It was dark when Allan struggled back to con- 
sciousness, — not dark in the ordinary sense, but 
pitch dark, — a blackness that oppressed and chilled 
with the sense of some unknown and unspeakable 
peril. He lay for a long time without moving, 
without thinking, just conscious in a dim way that 
234 


THE AWAKENING 


he existed. Gradually he became aware of an all- 
pervading pain, which finally resolved into an ach- 
ing head and an aching shoulder and cramped legs 
and arms. Then, in a flash, life surged in on him 
and he remembered the old stone house, the barn, 
the shadow, the blow which he had tried to avoid. 

He struggled to get to his feet, only to fall back 
with a groan of anguish; for his hands were tied 
behind him and his feet were lashed together. Even 
had he been free, his whirling, aching head would 
have chained him down. 

But his head grew clearer after a while and he 
could think connectedly. Where was he? Not in 
the barn, that was certain, for he could feel be- 
neath him a floor of boards, instead of the wet and 
clammy dirt upon which he had fallen. In the 
house, then — his unknown assailant had carried 
him into the house, tied him hand and foot and left 
him. 

For what purpose? 

But that was a question for which he could find 
no reasonable answer; nor could he even guess at 
his assailant’s identity. This murderous assault had 
made the mystery more puzzling than ever, for he 
could guess at no motive for it. Certainly he was 
not the victim of personal enmity, for he knew that 
he had no enemies — Dan Nolan’s death had de- 
livered him from the only one he ever had who was 
capable of resorting to such methods as this. Nor 
could he see how his being held a prisoner here 
235 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


could possibly be of any benefit to anyone. Indeed, 
there was certain to be a hue and cry after him if 
he was held a prisoner long. Stanley would know 
where to look for him — and there were Jack and 
Reddy. 

Allan’s eyes filled with tears as he thought of 
the anxiety they were doubtless suffering. And 
Mamie — was she suffering, too? Somehow, the 
thought of her was a very dear and moving one, 
and he whispered her name over and over to him- 
self. If only — 

He felt singularly weak and helpless; he could 
do nothing but lie where he was and await the will 
of his captors. He wondered vaguely what they 
would do with him, and he turned the thought over 
in his mind with a kind of impersonal interest as 
though it were not at all himself, but someone else 
entirely who was principally concerned. It seemed 
almost as though he were watching a drama in 
which he himself was an actor. 

The cramped posture in which he lay became in- 
supportable at last, and he managed, with infinite 
suffering, to turn himself over on his side. Then, 
finding himself somewhat easier, he at last dropped 
off to sleep. 

He was awakened by a flash of light in his eyes. 
For a minute, he saw only a dim figure holding a 
lantern, then, with clearing vision, he found himself 
staring into a face which sent a chill of horror 
through him. Never before had he seen a face so 
236 


THE AWAKENING 


repulsive. - The round head, set low between the 
shoulders, was crowned by a dirty towsel of hair 
which fell over the low forehead almost into the 
eyes. These, bloodshot and venomous, were sunk 
deep into the head and ambushed under bristling 
eyebrows. The nose, a mere unformed lump of 
flesh, overhung a mouth whose pendulous, black- 
ened lips were parted in a malicious grin. The fig- 
ure was squat and heavy, telling of great strength 
and even of a certain agility ; but to the figure Allan 
gave only a single glance, for the face fascinated 
him as only superlatively ugly things can. 

For a moment, this being stood shading his eyes 
from the lantern light with a great, hairy hand, and 
staring down at his prisoner. Then, with a hoarse 
grunt of satisfaction, he turned toward the door. 

But Allan, mustering all his courage, shouted 
after him. 

“ Hold on ! ” he cried. “ Hold on ! ” 

The fellow hesitated for an instant, and then 
turned back, and stood regarding Allan with that 
diabolical leer still upon his lips. 

“ What’s all this about? ” demanded Allan, steel- 
ing himself to endure the gaze of those crafty and 
threatening eyes. “ How long am I going to be 
kept here ? ” 

His captor laughed, or rather emitted a low 
rumble. 

“ Not long,” he croaked, hoarsely. “ Not long.” 

“ My friends will be after me in the morning.” 

237 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 

“ Let ’em ! ” and again came that rumbling laugh- 
ter. 

“ It will go hard with you if they find me here.” 

“ Don’t worry; they won’t find you.” 

“ What do you mean by that ? ” 

But the other only laughed again by way of 
answer. 

“ Was it you who struck me out there in the 
stable?” 

“ It surely was.” 

“ What had I done? ” 

A spasm of hate crossed the ferocious face. 

“ You hadn’t no business out there nor around 
here.” 

“ Maybe not,” Allan admitted. “ Let me go and 
I’ll clear out.” 

The words were greeted by a burst of laughter, 
so wild that Allan was suddenly convinced that he 
had to do with a wild man, a lunatic wholly irre- 
sponsible for his actions. The thought sent a 
deeper chill through him. 

“ Let me go,” he urged more gently. “ I have 
done you no harm.” 

“Ain’t you, though!” retorted his strange com- 
panion. “ Well, you’ll never do nobody else no 
harm, neither.” 

And without heeding the entreaties Allan sent 
after him, he went out and closed the door. 

Allan heard his footsteps die away along the hall 
outside, and then, after a moment, came that queer 
238 


THE AWAKENING 


murmur of voices which he had heard from the 
back door, only louder and clearer. And a sudden 
conviction leaped into his mind. 

The missing train-crew was imprisoned here also. 

He listened with bated breath as the murmur 
grew and grew, and finally died away as though 
it had spent itself. He judged that his captor had 
visited the other prisoners to make sure they were 
all safe, and had then departed. 

But who was this wild man ? What sort of mon- 
ster was this which had been let loose upon the 
world? How, single handed, had he been able to 
capture five men? And what was his object in do- 
ing so? 

Here were three questions to which no reasonable 
answer seemed possible. Allan felt almost as 
though he were living through some terrible night- 
mare, from which he must presently awaken. 
Surely such things as this could not happen here 
in Ohio, in the midst of a thickly populated coun- 
try! In the Middle Ages, perhaps; but not here 
in the twentieth century! 

The pain of his position had become excessive, 
and he rolled over on his back, and sought to ease 
himself a little. He could feel that his hair was 
clotted with blood, and from the pain in his shoul- 
der he was convinced that a bone had been broken 
— his collar-bone, probably. His head grew giddy 
after a while and a deathly sickness came upon him. 
The close and fetid atmosphere 'of the room seemed 
239 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


to stifle him. He shrieked aloud, but there was no 
response, and presently he lapsed into a sort of half- 
consciousness. 

He fancied that he was stretched upon the rack, 
that black-hooded inquisitors were advancing to the 
torture. He could feel the bonds about hands and 
feet slowly tighten and stretch, and a pang of agony 
shot through him. What was it they wanted him 
to confess? Something involving Jack — some- 
thing involving Mamie. No, he would never con- 
fess — after all, there was nothing to confess — it 
was a lie they were trying to wring from him. 
Again the cords tightened and stretched; he was 
being torn asunder, but he clenched his teeth and 
crushed back the groan which would have burst 
from him. Again — and this time there was no 
resisting, and he cried aloud — 

Cried aloud and opened his eyes, and, after a 
moment, realized where he was. He was panting 
for breath, for the air was thick with smoke. Afar 
off, he could hear a frantic shouting, which beat 
in upon his brain and turned him faint, so agon- 
ized it was. They were torturing some one else — 
they had left him for the moment to regain some 
measure of strength. No, they had decided to suf- 
focate him; they had started a fire under him — 
it was to be the trial of flame! Mamie, Mamie — 
he would never tell ! 

Then, suddenly, he understood. The house was 
on fire — that madman had fired it — that shout- 


240 


THE AWAKENING 


ing was from the other prisoners, who were perhaps 
already being roasted alive ! Roasted alive ! 

He wrenched frantically at his bonds, but they 
held as though of iron. He struggled to a sitting 
posture, but could rise no further. By an effort 
almost superhuman, he dragged himself to the door, 
and turning his back to it, tore at it with his fingers. 
Then he managed to raise himself so that his fin- 
gers clutched the latch; the door swung open and 
he fell backward into the hall. 

That fall racked him with agony, but, with sweat 
running down his face in little rivulets, he managed 
to grovel forward, inch by inch, pushing himself 
along by his legs, sparing his injured shoulder as 
much as he could. One foot, two feet, three feet. 
Then, suddenly, he realized that his head was hang- 
ing over an abyss — his shoulders were over — 
and in an instant he had pitched forward wildly, 
and fell shrieking into the darkness. 


241 


CHAPTER XXI 


“ C. Q. D ” 

In the gray dawn of the winter morning, Mamie 
Welsh started wide awake from the restless doze 
into which she had fallen. She sat up in bed, her 
head to one side as though listening for some faint 
and distant sound. Then, with a quick movement, 
she threw back the bed-clothes, slipped to the floor, 
pulled a shawl about her, thrust her feet into a pair 
of slippers, and ran to the door of the room where 
her father and mother slept. 

Mary Welsh, a light sleeper at all times, was 
awake at the first tap of Mamie’s fingers. 

“ Who’s there? ” she called. 

“ It’s me, Mamie.” 

“ What’s the matter, dearie? ” cried Mrs. Welsh, 
jumping out of bed and hastening to open the door. 
“ What’s the matter? ” she repeated, her arms about 
her daughter. “Not sick?” For Mamie’s face in 
the dim light was positively ghastly, so livid and 
drawn it was. 

“ No, I — I’m not sick,” sobbed Mamie, sud- 
denly giving way and clinging desperately to her 
242 


“ C. Q. D.” 


mother. “I — I don’t know what it is, only I’m 
so worried about Allan.” 

And Mrs. Welsh, with a sudden tightening of 
the heart, understood. 

“ There, there,” she said, and she drew her 
daughter’s head down upon her shoulder and patted 
her soothingly. “ There, there ; he’ll be back safe 
an’ sound, dearie, never fear ! ” 

“ But oh ! mother ! I dreamed such a terrible 
dream. He was in some awful danger, hurt and 
bleeding, in the dark, and a horrible man was tor- 
turing him, and he called to me and held out his 
hands. I heard his voice, mother, as plainly as I 
hear yours — it woke me up,” and Mamie shivered 
convulsively at the remembrance. 

Mrs. Welsh was no more superstitious than the 
ordinary Irish woman, but there was something 
in the words — something in the voice which ut- 
tered them — which somehow struck a responsive 
chord in her, and she shivered in sympathy with the 
trembling figure she held in her arms. 

Jack, meanwhile, disturbed by all this talking, 
suddenly awakened to find his wife missing, and 
sat up in bed rubbing his eyes and staring at the 
ghostly figures near the door. 

“ Who’s that ? ” he asked, but a convulsive sob 
from Mamie told who it was, and thoroughly 
awakened at last, he was out of bed in an instant. 
“What’s wrong?” he demanded. “What’s the 
matter with you women? ” v 
243 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


“ Mamie’s worried about Allan,” answered Mrs. 
Welsh, hugging tight the shivering figure in her 
arms. 

“ Oh, dad ! ” sobbed Mamie. “ I dreamed about 
him and he — he was calling me ! ” 

“Calling you? What d’ye mean, Mamie?” 

“ He was calling me to come to him. Oh, dad, 
we must go ! ” 

“Go?” repeated Jack, in amazement. “Go 
where ? ” 

“ Out to Schooley’s — or wherever it is — you 
will, won’t you, dad ? ” 

She had her arms around her father, now, and 
there was a pathos, an entreaty in her voice that 
wrung his heart. 

“ I was goin’ out this mornin’, anyway,” he said, 
smoothing her hair gently, “an’ I guess I might 
as well start now.” 

“And I’m. going with you, dad.” 

“ No, no,” he protested. “ What good would 
that do, Mamie? ” 

“ Good ! ” she cried. “ Why, dad, you don’t 
know where to find him ! ” 

“ And do you ? ” 

Her face changed — seemed to whiten and 
harden — and her eyes stared past them into the 
gloom. 

“ Yes ! ” she whispered, her hands clasped tight 
against her heart. 


“ C. Q. D.” 


Mrs. Welsh, her hand grasping Jack’s arm, 
nodded to him to consent. 

“ All right,” he agreed, his voice not wholly 
steady. “ All right, Mamie. Jump into your 
clothes. Maybe we kin ketch first ninety-eight.” 

Neither Jack Welsh nor his wife could ever ex- 
plain the spirit of desperate haste which suddenly 
possessed them. Mamie, apparently in a sort of 
trance, returned to her room and dressed herself 
deliberately and calmly, but with a wonderful celer- 
ity, as surely as she could have done in broad day- 
light; while Jack, in the semi-darkness, bungled 
into his clothes somehow, his fingers all thumbs. 

Mrs. Welsh, meanwhile, throwing a wrapper 
around her, hastened downstairs, and when the 
other two came down five minutes later — Mamie 
having assisted her father in the last stages of his 
toilet — she had a cup of hot coffee for each of 
them, and a lunch done up in a napkin for them 
to take along. She kissed them both at the front 
door and stood watching them until they were out 
of sight. Then she turned slowly back into the 
house, blew out the lamp in the kitchen, and 
mounted to her bedroom. But not to sleep. In the 
cold light of the dawn, she sank on her knees be- 
side the bed and buried her face in her hands. 

Jack and Mamie reached the yards just as Bill 
Grimes, the conductor of first ninety-eight, was 


245 


" THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 

raising his hand to give the signal to start. He was 
charmed to have them as his guests, and hustled 
them into the caboose, much to the embarrassment 
of an impressionable young brakeman, who was 
just changing his shoes. He thought he had never 
seen anything so lovely as Mamie, and stammered 
profuse apologies, which Mamie acknowledged with 
an absent-minded nod. Poor fellow! her thoughts 
were far away from him. 

He cheerfully undertook to climb forward over 
the long train and to ask the engineer to slow up 
at the spot where the abandoned train had been 
discovered, and fifteen minutes later, at some risk 
to life and limb, he was at the caboose steps to 
assist Mamie to alight. 

As the train gathered speed again, conductor and 
brakeman shouted back good wishes ; then the rum- 
ble died away in the distance, and the train disap- 
peared in the morning mist. 

“Well, and now what?” asked Jack Welsh, 
looking down at his daughter. 

Something in her face arrested his gaze, a cer- 
tain strained and fixed expression, as though she 
were gazing inward instead of outward, as though 
she were stretching every sense to catch the sound 
of some inward voice, faint and far-away. 

Jack felt a little shiver creep along his spine 
and up over his scalp, as he noted that fixed gaze. 

“Well, and now what?” he asked again. 
“ What is it you’re listenin’ for, Mamie? ” 

246 


“ C. Q. D.” 

“ His voice,” she answered, almost in a whisper. 
“ ’Twill guide us.” 

“ Surely,” protested Jack, “ you don’t expect — ” 

But without waiting for him to finish, Mamie 
turned abruptly away from the railroad, and 
plunged into the strip of woodland which stretched 
beside it. There was no semblance of a path, but 
she hurried forward without pausing, and at the 
end of a few minutes they came to a road. With- 
out an instant’s hesitation, Mamie turned eastward 
along it. 

“ Toward Schooley’s,” Jack muttered to himself. 
“ That’s all right. But how the dickens did she 
know it was here ? ” 

Mamie, meanwhile, looking neither to the right 
nor left, hurried along the road as fast as her feet 
would carry her. It was hard and rutted and any- 
thing but easy walking, yet the girl seemed to take 
no account of the roughness of the way, and Jack, 
panting and stumbling along behind, marvelled at 
the ease with which she hastened on. The sun had 
not yet risen, and gray cold mist of the morning 
still lingered among the trees. To the supersti- 
tious Irishman there seemed to be something ghostly 
and supernatural in the air ; he felt that some mys- 
terious and unseen influence was at work, and the 
thought brought a cold sweat out across his fore- 
head. Yet never for an instant did he think of 
trying to stop her or of turning back himself. 

Then suddenly, from afar off, Jack’s ears caught 
247 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


the sound of a faint singing or crying, that rose 
and fell in a sort of weird cadence, impossible to 
describe. 

“What’s that?” he cried, and stopped short; 
but instead of pausing, Mamie broke into a run, 
and would have been out of sight in a moment had 
not Jack followed at top speed. In the end, his 
strength and agility told even against the strange 
spirit that possessed her, and he gained her side 
just as they reached the edge of a clearing, in the 
midst of which stood an old stone house. 

“Good God! It’s afire!” gasped Jack, and, in- 
deed, a black swirl of smoke was pouring from the 
broken windows at the front of the house, lighted 
redly here and there from instant to instant by a 
tongue of flame. “ Wait, Mamie,” he added, grasp- 
ing her arm as she started forward. “ What ’r 
you goin’ t’ do? ” 

“ He’s there ! ” Mamie cried, shaking him away, 
and without another word, she started toward the 
house. 

Jack, gritting his teeth tight together, followed 
her. There was need of courage, for that weird 
sing-song chanting still persisted, and as they 
neared the house, a strange figure appeared around 
the corner — a squat, deformed figure, surmounted 
by a hideous face and great shock of dirty hair. 
It was dancing in a clumsy and ungainly fashion 
and was emitting from time to time the hoarse 
shouting which had set Jack’s nerves on edge. 

248 



HIMSELF UPON THEM 




“ C. Q. D ” 


For an instant, the fellow did not perceive them; 
then, as his blood-shot eyes rested upon them, he 
stood for a breath as though carved in stone, and 
then, with a hoarse yell of rage, hurled himself 
upon them. 

How Mamie escaped that savage onrush, she 
never knew. Jack had a confused recollection of 
seeing her spring aside to escape the madman’s 
swinging arms, and in the next instant he found 
himself grappling with him, hurled backward off 
his feet, with great, hairy hands tearing at his 
throat. He felt himself helpless as a child in this 
powerful and cruel grasp, and his heart turned faint 
within him as he stared upward into the convulsed 
and hideous face glaring down at him. He dashed 
his fists against it, with almost as little effect as 
though he had dashed them against a rock, and 
ever those hands at his throat tightened and tight- 
ened. The world danced red before him — it was 
no use — no use — 

Then, suddenly, a thought flashed lightning-like 
into his brain — if he failed her now, Mamie would 
be left alone with this monster — at his mercy — 

Mad with rage, fairly foaming at the mouth, 
fired with a strength almost superhuman, Jack 
twisted his assailant to one side and tore his hands 
from his throat. One full breath of the cold air — 
it was all he had time for, before those hands closed 
upon him again. This was no human being, he told 
himself despairingly; it was a monster against 
249 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


which he could not hope to prevail ; it wasn’t fair 
to put a man up against a thing like this; nobody 
could blame him if he failed — but Mamie — there 
was Mamie — 

His hand, flung out convulsively, touched some- 
thing hard and round; mechanically he grasped it 
— mechanically he struck with it at the face above 
him — once — twice — thrice. And he felt the 
hands at his throat relax, saw dimly the savage 
countenance running red with blood, felt the great 
body lurch heavily forward across him — and lay 
gasping for breath, too weak, for the moment, to 
throw it off. 

But only for a moment; then, twisting the body 
to one side, he staggered to his feet and stared first 
at it and then at the boulder he still grasped in his 
hand; and not till then did he understand what 
had happened — by what a slender chance he had 
been saved — and not he alone, but Mamie — 

Mamie! He turned to look for her. She was 
nowhere in sight, and forgetting all else, he stag- 
gered forward toward the burning house. He tried 
the front door and found it fastened, shook at it 
savagely without effect, and then hastened around 
the house to the rear. 

The back door was open, a flood of smoke pour- 
ing from it. And as he stared stupidly at it, he 
saw a nebulous figure struggling through it. 

The sight brought his senses back, brought his 
strength back. He sprang forward, and in another 
250 


“ C. Q. D.” 


moment, he and Mamie, between them, had 
dragged Allan West out into the open air, bleeding, 
bound, unconscious. 

“ What they been doin’ to the boy?” cried Jack, 
a white-hot rage almost choking him. “ Have they 
kilt him — have the cowards kilt him?” 

“ Oh, no ; oh, no ! ” sobbed Mamie, dropping on. 
her knees beside him. “ Oh, look, dad, they’ve tied 
his hands and feet.” 

“The scoundrels!” and Jack, whipping out his 
knife, had the bonds severed in an instant. “ His 
head’s all bloody,” he added, “ an’ look how that 
rope’s cut his wrists! Good God! What kind o’ 
fiends — ” 

But Mamie, with more self-control than he, laid 
a restraining hand upon his arm. 

“ Don’t, dad,” she said. “ Don’t think of that 
now. Time enough afterwards.” 

“ You’re right,” and Jack mastered himself by 
a mighty effort. 

“ We must get some water,” said Mamie, and 
then as she looked down at the white, bruised, un- 
conscious face, a wave of misery swept over her, 
a suffocating sense of her own helplessness. “We 
must do something!” she cried wringing her 
hands in anguish. “ We must — oh ! — ” 

She stopped suddenly, and pressed her hands 
against her wildly-beating heart, for Allan’s eyes 
slowly unclosed and he lay looking up at her. Then 
his face brightened into a smile, and an instant 
251 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


later twitched with the agony the slight movement 
cost him. His eyes were caught by the cloud of 
smoke drifting upward from the house, and his 
expression changed from agony to horror. 

“ We must get the others/’ he gasped, and tried 
to rise. 

“No, no,” protested Mamie, her arms about him. 
“ Lie still — you must — ” 

But Allan had fainted dead away. 


252 


CHAPTER XXII 


THE MYSTERY SOLVED 

They tell the story yet on the P. & O., and, in- 
deed, everywhere that railroad men foregather — 
they tell it with shining eyes and fast-beating hearts 
— how Jack Welsh, grasping in an instant the 
meaning of Allan’s words, tied his handkerchief 
over mouth and nose, and fought his way inch by 
inch into that burning house, crawling on hands 
and knees with his face close to the floor where the 
smoke was thinnest — fought his way up the stairs 
and from room to room, until he found the one 
where five men lay, bound and senseless, on the 
floor; and they tell how he dragged them one by 
one to the open air, feeling the hot floor tremble 
under him toward the end, and himself falling un- 
conscious beside the last man as he dropped him to 
the ground. 

They tell the story with the proud consciousness 
that this man was one of themselves, and that what 
he did was done in the way of duty, with no thought 
of fame or reward, without pausing to count the 
risk. 


253 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


But even this heroism might have been of small 
avail, had not Reddy Magraw at that instant come 
upon the scene. Let him tell the story, as he told 
it next day to Mrs. Welsh. 

“ You know, whin I come down to your house 
the first thing in the mornin’ an’ found Jack had 
gone out to Schooley’s, I was purty mad, fer we 
had kind of arranged t’ go out there togither, if 
Allan didn’t show up; an’ it didn’t seem t’ me 
that he was playin’ just fair, though o’ course I 
understand now that he didn’t have time t’ call me. 
Well, I made up my mind I’d git out there as quick 
as I could, so I hopped the first train I could ketch, 
which was second ninety-eight, and I reckon I must 
have jumped off not more’n half an hour after 
Jack an’ Mamie did — though mind you, you hadn’t 
said anything about Mamie goin’ along, an’ I 
reckon I know why,” and here he stopped for a 
long look deep into Mrs. Welsh’s eyes. 

“ Go ahead with the story,” she said. “ Though 
I don’t say you ain’t right.” 

“ O’ course I’m right,” said Reddy, confidently. 
“ Well, as I was sayin’, I got off the train an’ wan- 
dered around fer some time, an’ then struck the 
road an’ started t’ f oiler it; an’ purty soon I seed 
smoke over the tree-tops an’ after that I didn’t 
loiter none, I tell you. 

“ Well, sir, when I run around the corner o’ that 
house, I purty nigh dropped dead in my tracks. 
There on the ground lay about a dozen men, as it 
254 


THE MYSTERY SOLVED 


seemed to me; there was the lunatic, an’ a sight 
he was, with his face all covered with blood; an’ 
there was Jack, an’ his face was covered with blood, 
too, but not his own, the lunatic’s; and there was 
Allan West, lookin’ deader ’n a salt mackerel; there 
was five Other fellys, some a-layin’ nice an’ still, 
an’ some kind o’ squirmin’ around an’ moanin’; 
an’ there was Mamie, with Allan’s head in her lap 
a-lookin’ most dead herself; an’ when I see her 
settin’ there, I tell you my heart jest seemed to swell 
up inside me like it was a-goin’ t’ bust. 

“ Well, I didn’t know no more what to do than 
a rabbit. There was eight men whose lives de- 
pended on me, more or less; not that I’d ’a’ cared 
about the lunatic, but even without him there was 
seven, an’ me no doctor, neither. But Mamie cer- 
tainly did show what was in her. Where she 
learned it I don’t know, but she set me t’ pumpin’ 
them fellers’ arms up an’ down n’ blowin’ down 
their throats — Jack an’ Allan first — an’ it wasn’t 
a great while till Jack came around. He was kind 
o’ weak an’ giddy, but not fer long; an’ in ten 
or fifteen minutes, we had three others all right; 
an’ jest about then, the lunatic began to come to, 
so we tied his hands an’ feet t’ make sure he didn’t 
git away, or sneak up on any of us from behind 
an’ cave our heads in. An’ when he did come to, 
he laid there an’ cussed somethin’ frightful. I 
wanted t’ hit him with the rock ag’in, but Mamie 
said no, to gag him, an’ we stuffed his mouth full 
255 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


of his own dirty clothes, an’ I guess he wished he’d 
kept ’em cleaner. 

“ But what worried us most of all was Allan. 
He jest laid there limp as a rag, an’ Mamie workin’ 
with him, purty nigh as white as he was.” 

“ He can’t die ! ” she kept saying to herself, over 
and over. “ He can’t die! It was God brought me 
here to save him, and he can’t die now ! ” 

The smoke and flames had burst up from the 
burning house, a beacon to all the country-side, and 
assistance was at hand ere long; strong hands and 
tender hearts; and presently two great wagons, 
bedded with straw to take conscious and uncon- 
scious alike to Schooley’s, whither already a swift 
rider had been dispatched to summon aid from 
Wadsworth. And at Wadsworth, too, it may well 
be believed that no time was lost. A special was 
got ready in a hurry; doctors and nurses sum- 
moned ; and when the little cavalcade reached 
Schooley’s, the special was waiting there for it; 
and trained hands took over the work of relief. 

Trained hands which worked swiftly and surely, 
and presently Allan opened his eyes and looked up 
at Mamie and smiled at her. 

“ Dear Mamie ! ” he murmured and closed his 
eyes and slept. 

And the overwrought girl, conscious for the first 
time of her utter fatigue, reeled and would have 
fallen had not a strong arm caught her and carried 
her to a cot. 


256 


THE MYSTERY SOLVED 


I have wondered often what force it was drew 
Mamie from her bed, that morning, with sure 
knowledge of Allan’s danger, and guided her to 
him along that rutted country road. The human 
mind is a strange and wonderful thing, with the 
seeming power of projecting itself through space, 
at times, and summoning loved ones or conveying 
a message to them. 

Science seems to admit so much — or, at least, 
hesitates to deny it, in face of the evidence. And 
I have sometimes thought that, as Allan fell 
through the swirling smoke down that flight of 
stairs in the old stone house, his last conscious 
thought of Mamie, that thought somehow flashed 
to her across the miles that lay between them — a 
C. Q. D. signal of distress, as it were, from him to 
her, on the wonderful wireless of the mind. 

At least, I have no other explanation — I only 
know it really happened just as I have told it 
here. 

A great crowd was waiting when that special 
pulled in to Wadsworth — a crowd which cheered 
and cheered as Allan and Jack Welsh and Mamie 
were borne to the carriages which were in waiting; 
a crowd from which three women threw themselves 
upon the conductor and brakemen, weak but smil- 
ing; a crowd which cursed the idiot and would 
have torn him from his cot and committed I know 
not what violence but for the platoon of police, 
257 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


assisted by Stanley’s specials, with Stanley himself, 
saturnine yet smiling, at the head of them. 

For Stanley had returned and with him three 
prisoners and a wagon load of the richest silks ever 
shipped over an American railroad. 

For the whole thing had been a case of robbery, 
after all, just as Stanley had suspected. 

It had been carefully planned. The conspira- 
tors — old hands at the game — had learned that 
a shipment of silks of unusual richness had been 
made by a New York house to its jobbers in Saint 
Louis — had even received from some traitorous 
clerk the number of the car in which they were 
carried — had flagged the train, took conductor and 
brakemen prisoners, as they hurried forward to find 
out what the red light meant; had afterwards se- 
cured the engineer and fireman at the point of a 
revolver, extinguished the headlight, and looted the 
car at their leisure. 

Then, after carefully sealing it up again so that 
the robbery would not be discovered until the car 
arrived at its destination, they had convoyed the 
prisoners to the old stone house, and committed 
them to the care of the half-witted monster they 
had brought with them from the city slums, with 
instructions that they be released in forty-eight 
hours, in which time they fancied they would be 
able to get well beyond reach of pursuit. 

But they had not fully appreciated their confed- 
erate’s crazed condition; they had not foreseen in 
258 


THE MYSTERY SOLVED 


what a horrible way he would carry out their in- 
structions — give them credit for that. Nor had 
they foreseen that, within a very few hours, one 
of the keenest detectives in the middle west would 
be after them. They had thought such search as 
would be made would be for the missing men, and 
had hoped that, in the disorganized condition of the 
road, no very effective search could be made at 
all. 

How Stanley followed them, like the blood- 
hound that he was, and finally ran them down need 
not be related in detail here. Stanley himself has 
told the story in the book of memoirs which he pub- 
lished after he had retired from active service. 
Once he had got his clue to them, the rest was a 
question of only a few hours; for a wagon heavily 
laden cannot proceed at any great rate of speed, 
nor can it pass along the roads unseen. He had 
sworn in two deputies at a farm house, and with 
their assistance, had no difficulty in surprising the 
robbers, as they jogged along a country road, think- 
ing themselves quite secure. It was merely the 
matter of a levelled revolver and a stern command, 
and the application of certain lengths of rope to 
wrists and ankles. Then, turning the wagon about, 
he had driven in triumph back to Wadsworth, 
reaching there just at dawn. 

And the first news he had heard was of Allan’s 
disappearance. Puzzled and worried, he had seen 
his prisoners lodged safely in the county jail, and 
259 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


was just preparing to join the search himself, when 
news of the rescue flashed in from Schooley’s. 

Oh, but there were crazy people on Wadsworth’s 
streets that day — people wild with excitement, 
telling the story over and over to each other, sha- 
king each other’s hands, repeating this detail or 
that as though they would never tire of hearing it. 
And the reporters! Well, the wildest stretch of 
their imaginations had conceived no such story as 
this ! And they flashed it forth to the four points 
of the compass, so that, next morning, the whole 
country read the tale of the heroism of Jack Welsh 
and his daughter, Mamie. 

It was perhaps, a year afterwards that the post- 
man, one morning, brought a little registered pack- 
age for John Welsh. Jack chanced to be at home 
that morning, and opened the package in consider- 
able surprise, for registered packages were not of 
common occurrence with him. 

“ Why, what’s this ? ” he said, and held up what 
appeared to be a medal of gold. 

“ Let’s see it,” said Mary, quickly, and examined 
it with eager eyes. “ Why, look! ” she cried. “ On 
one side is a woman holdin’ a wreath, an’ on the 
other it says ‘ To John Welsh, for valour, February 
2, 1906.’ It’s from the hayro fund!” she cried. 
“ Jack — ” 

But Jack, looking very red and uncomfortable, 
had bolted from the house. 


260 


THE MYSTERY SOLVED 


“ I does my work,” he muttered angrily to him- 
self, as he strode up the street, “ but I ain’t no 
hayro, an’ what’s more, I won’t be one! What do 
they mean by sendin’ me a medal ? Confound their 
impudence, anyway. Why can’t they leave a feller 
alone? I don’t want their old medal! ” 

But Mary put it carefully away, and it is to this 
day her dearest treasure, to be shown proudly 
whenever the story of Jack’s exploit is told — pro- 
vided, always, that Jack isn’t there! 

And the robbers? Conviction followed, as a 
matter of course. There could be no doubt of their 
guilt, and in the end they saw the wisdom of con- 
fessing and throwing themselves upon the mercy 
of the court. The madman was consigned to an 
asylum for the criminally insane, where he remains 
to this day, occupying for the most part a strait- 
jacket and a padded cell, for he has never recov- 
ered from his lust of blood and instinct to murder. 


261 


CHAPTER XXIII 


COMPLICATIONS 

“ Well, well ; wonders will niver cease ! ” re- 
marked Reddy Magraw, contemplating the news- 
paper he held in his hand — Reddy safe once more 
in the bosom of his family, a hero if there ever 
was one, a czar whose slightest word was law — 
and, all in all, as true and loyal and honest and 
warm-hearted an Irishman as ever lived in this 
world. 

“ What is it ? ” asked Mrs. Magraw, looking over 
his shoulder. 

“ That,” answered Reddy, slapping the page with 
his open hand — a page overflowing with heavy 
headlines and further embellished with a group of 
photographs. “ Now who’d ’a’ thought that any- 
body would iver want t’ put my ugly mug in the 
paper ? ” 

“ Sure his no uglier than lots of others,” pro- 
tested Mrs. Magraw, gazing at it fondly. 

“ Mebbe so ; but this here picter don’t look 
nothin’ like what I see when I looks in the glass.” 

“ Well,” said Mrs. Magraw, examining it crit- 
262 


COMPLICATIONS 


ically, “ it ain’t jest what I’d call a perfect likeness; 
but the eyes are yours an’ the nose an’ the mouth.” 

“ If they are, they ain’t put together right,” said 
Reddy. “ I’ve often wondered how a criminal 
could git away when the papers all over the country 
was printin’ his picter, but I understand now. If 
I’d done somethin’ an’ was runnin’ away an’ was 
arrested on suspicion, I could prove by that picter 
that they’d got the wrong man.” 

“ Well, anyways,” said Mrs. Magraw, “ we gits 
half a dozen cabinets fer lettin’ ’em take it.” 

“PTwas real generous,” agreed Reddy. “ But I 
wish they was of the baby. I niver thought that 
I’d iver ag’in face a cammery. The last picter I 
had took, darlint, was whin I was courtin’ ye.” 

“ Yes, an’ I’ve got it yet, as ye know,” said Mrs. 
Magraw, “ an’ a love of a picter it is.” 

“ All that I raymimber about it is that me pants 
was very tight an’ me shoes was killin’ me,” said 
Reddy, with a smile of reminiscence. “ However, 
I was ready an’ willin’ to suffer any torture — even 
to cuttin’ off me toes if ye thought me feet too 
big.” 

“ As if I iver looked at yer feet! It was in your 
honest blue eyes that I looked, Reddy Magraw, an’ 
nowheres else.” 

“ Well, I reckon we didn’t -either of us make no 
mistake, darlint,” said Reddy comfortably. “ We 
ain’t niver been bothered by a bank account, ’tis 
true; but nayther have we starved or gone naked.” 

263 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


Mrs. Magraw patted him on the shoulder as a 
token of her approval of the sentiment. 

“ Let’s see the other picters,” she said. “ There’s 
Jack Welsh an’ Stanley — trust him t’ have his 
picter ready.” 

“Yes,” chuckled Reddy, “an’ anybody could 
recognize it a mile off by the nose.” 

“ But where’s Allan?” 

Reddy chuckled again. 

“Didn’t have none; neither did Mamie — at 
least, that’s what they said. But that didn’t trouble 
most o’ the papers none. They jest went ahead 
an’ made ’em up. One feller must ’a’ cut his picter 
o’ Mamie out of a fashion paper, an’ another used 
one of them skinny magazine girls, with their hair 
all a-flyin’ around their faces. An’ Allan — he 
looks like one of them young hayroes from the 
ready-made suit advertisements.” 

“ An’ does that look like the house? ” asked Mrs. 
Magraw, indicating a building, with smoke and 
flames pouring from it in a truly terrifying man- 
ner, which further ornamented the newspaper’s ac- 
count of the rescue. 

“ Well,” said Reddy, cautiously, “ it does in a 
gineral way. It’s got four walls an’ a roof an’ 
some windeys. Furder ’n that I wouldn’t keer t’ 

go” 

“ An’ have ye read the story? ” 

“Yes; I’ve read it. An’ a very purty story it 
is — a very purty work of the imagination. You 
264 


COMPLICATIONS 


should read it, an’ see what a liar yer husband is. 
I allers did admire them newspaper felleys. T’ 
hear them tell the story, you’d think they was right 
on the scene — an’ them that was there can’t rec- 
ognize the place.” 

“ Well,” said Mrs. Magraw, in amazement, “ I 
allers thought I could believe what I saw in the 
papers. What’ll I do now ? ” 

“ Do as I do, darlint,” replied her husband; 
“ read the papers not fer instruction but fer enty- 
tainment.” 

The story of the abandoned train and the elev- 
enth hour rescue of its crew was a nine days’ won- 
der. There was the hearing of the case, the robbers’ 
confession, the lapse into violent insanity of the 
murderous idiot, the serious condition of two of 
the crew, and of the young chief-dispatcher who 
had risked his life searching for them. All these 
kept up the interest from day to day, adding new 
fuel to the flames, and the enterprising reporters 
made the most of them. The two brakemen recov- 
ered, however, in a few days, but nearly a week 
had elapsed before the doctor, coming down from 
the room where Allan West lay, pronounced him 
out of danger. 

“ Careful nursing is all he needs now,” he said, 
“ and I know he’ll get that.” 

“ You kin be sure of it,” said Mary. “ This 
ain’t the first time he’s needed it an’ got it.” 

265 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


“ I know that,” and the doctor smiled. “ It was 
I, you know, who took that bullet out of him and 
who fixed those broken ribs. He’s surely had his 
share.” 

“ An’ every time,” said Mary, with spirit, “ it 
was a-doin’ some other man’s work — a-doin’ some- 
thin’ he thought was his duty, where the other man 
would most likely have runned away.” 

It was a very white and shaky, but thoroughly 
cheerful boy who smiled up at Mary Welsh five 
minutes later, when she mounted the stairs with 
the good news. 

“ Though it’s more ’n you deserve,” she added, 
with simulated wrath ; “ for ever pokin’ your nose 
in where you ain’t no business to.” 

“ What ! ” protested Allan, “ would you have had 
me let those five poor fellows burn to death ! ” 

“ No ; but when they’s detective work t’ do, let 
the detective do it. What’s Stanley for ? ” 

“ He was busy doing something else. And that 
reminds me — I must see him right away.” 

“ Right away, indade ! ” cried Mary, with an 
indignant snort. “ Next week, mebbe, if the doc- 
tor — ” 

“ Then I guess I’ll have to get up and hunt him,” 
said Allan, and made a movement as though to 
rise. 

“Lay still ^ lay still,” said Mary hastily, “an’ 
I’ll send fer him,” but Allan, smiling to himself, 
266 


COMPLICATIONS 

could hear her grumbling all the way down the 
stairs. 

Stanley lost no time in answering the summons, 
though Mrs. Welsh had tried to persuade him to 
refuse to come, or, at least, to postpone his visit 
until the next day. 

“ The lad’s in no shape to see you,” she said, over 
the telephone, “ but I had t’ promise t’ tell you, or 
he’d ’a’ been climbin’ out o’ bed, an’ him scarce 
able t’ stand.” 

“ I’ve got to come then, ma’am,” said Stanley 
politely, but with great positiveness. “ I’ve got to 
obey my superior officer. Besides, I’ve pretty near 
got to see him, anyway. I was goin’ to come 
around in the mornin’ myself.” 

“ Well, come on then, an’ bad cess to ye ! ” said 
Mary, and five minutes later he was at the door. 
“ Now don’t you go to excitin’ the lad,” she added, 
before she let him in. 

“ I won’t, ma’am,” Stanley promised meekly. 
“ I’ll be a reg’lar soothin’ syrup. It’ll do him good 
to see me — it really will.” 

“ Huh ! ” grunted Mary, “ that’s more ’n it does 
me! ” 

But she let him in reluctantly, and led him up- 
stairs to Allan’s bedroom. 

“ I’ll give you two ten minutes,” she announced, 
and closed the door behind her. 

Stanley, grinning, drew a chair up to the bedside 
and sat down. 


267 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


“ Something of a Tartar,” he observed. 

“ Yes, bless her, where I’m concerned. She’s the 
best woman on earth and the biggest hearted. Now, 
what’s the news? ” 

“ Well, sir,” said Stanley, crossing his legs de- 
liberately, “ this big sensation sort of took people’s 
minds off the strike, and the situation hasn’t been 
watched as close as it might have been. I’ve had 
to be away a good deal, attendin’ the hearin’ an’ 
lookin’ after things, and I kind of think some of 
the strikers got at our men.” 

“ How could they do that ? ” 

“ I suspect one of my men of givin’ us the 
double-cross — I fired him to-day.” 

“ But what makes you think the strikers got at 
the men ? ” 

“ Well, three more pulled out yesterday without 
waitin’ fer their pay, and I hear they joined the 
brotherhood last night.” 

Allan’s face cleared. 

“ If that’s all! ” he said. “ I guess we can spare 
three men. If no more than that leave us, it shows 
the men are pretty well contented. Has Mr. Scho- 
field or Mr. Plumfield been here ? ” 

“ No,” Stanley answered, “ and from what I 
hear, they ain’t likely to be. They’ve both got their 
hands full. Somebody tried to set fire to the stock- 
yards the other night and pretty near succeeded — 
in fact, did start a lively blaze, but it was discov- 
ered and put out before much damage was done 
268 


COMPLICATIONS 


— and mighty lucky it was that the night wasn’t 
a windy one. But ever since, Mr. Schofield has 
had to patrol the whole approach to Cincinnati, a 
matter of five or six miles.” 

“Yes — and what about Mr. Plumfield?” 

“ Well,” said Stanley, “ the same night, one of 
the track walkers happened to find a big dynamite 
bomb on the Parkersburg bridge and dumped it 
over into the river just in time. That means more 
patrollin’ at that end.” 

“ But who did it ? Who started the fire and who 
placed the bomb? ” 

“You can search me! The strikers say it wasn’t 
them, and the brotherhood is offering a reward of 
a thousand dollars for the arrest and conviction of 
the guilty parties. I guess, though, their money’s 
in no danger,” Stanley added, with a grin. 

“ You mean you think the strikers did it? ” asked 
Allan, quickly. 

“ I don’t suppose anybody’s doin’ it fer their 
health.” 

“ But if that’s their game, what’s to prevent them 
from blowing up a bridge or culvert somewhere out 
on the line any time they want to? We can’t guard 
the whole right-of-way.” 

“ There ain’t a thing on earth to prevent them,” 
answered Stanley, cheerfully. “ You know as well 
as I do, that there never is any thing to prevent 
any tramp or bum or scoundrel blowin’ up a bridge 
at any time — but they never do — at least, mighty 
269 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


seldom, though to hear some of ’em talk, you’d 
think all they wanted was half a chance t’ blow up 
the whole world. So I don’t look for anything 
of that sort now. In the first place, scoundrels of 
that kind won’t operate far from a base of supplies, 
which means a grog-shop. An’ in the second place, 
they’ve got to operate in a mob, for they’re the 
biggest cowards on earth — and that means a big 
town. I take back what I said a while ago. I don’t 
think the strikers put that bomb on the bridge — 
I think it was some Russian or Italian anarchist 
from the Parkersburg coal mines or steel works. 
There’s plenty of ’em there. An’ I ain’t so dead 
sure they started the stockyards fire, either. I had 
a talk with Simpson, their special delegate, yester- 
day, and he seems to be a pretty decent sort of 
feller. I really believe he’s tryin’ to prevent trouble, 
and I could see that he was considerable down in 
the mouth about the strike. I think he’s giftin' cold 
feet and would be glad to back out, if he could. 
I figger it out this way — the brotherhood’s split 
up. The old, conservative men, headed by Simp- 
son, want to avoid trouble; the young, hot-headed 
ones, headed by Bassett, are sp’ilin’ for a fight. 
And they’re roundin’ up all the toughs they can find 
to help them.” 

“ Well,” said Allan, with a sigh of relief, “ they 
won’t be able to find many here to help them, and 
that’s a blessing! ” 

“ I wouldn’t be too sure of that,” said Stanley; 

270 


COMPLICATIONS 


“ but I don’t think there’ll be any trouble here — 
not for a few days, anyway.” 

“ A few days ? ” echoed Allan. “ What do you 
mean by that ? ” 

“ I mean,” answered Stanley, slowly, “ that I 
don’t like the looks of things. There’s too many 
strangers in town.” 

“ Too many strangers? ” 

“ Yes — too many strangers. Why, the saloons 
are full of the toughest lookin’ lot of men you ever 
saw. Where’d they come from — that’s what I 
want to know — and what’s their business — and 
who’s payin’ for their whiskey?” 

“ I don’t understand you yet, Stanley,” said Al- 
lan, a little impatiently. “ Tell me straight out 
what you’re afraid of.” 

“ I’m afraid that them fellers are bein’ brought 
in here to cause trouble,” answered Stanley, bluntly. 
“ And I believe that Bassett’s at the bottom of the 
whole thing. And furthermore I believe he’s got 
that little devil of a Hummel helpin’ him.” 

“ Hummel ? Have you seen him ? ” 

“Seen him! I guess not! If I did, I’d have 
him behind the bars so quick ’twould make his head 
swim. But I’ve got to have some more men, and 
the trouble is that the more I get, the more danger 
there is of gettin’ some strike sympathizers among 
them. I think I’d better patrol the yards and track 
clear through to the city limits.” 

“ So do I,” Allan agreed. “ I’d keep everybody 
271 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


out of the yards and off the right-of-way who hasn’t 
business there. And if there’s any sign of trouble, 
let me know at once.” 

“ I will,” Stanley promised; “ I’m mighty glad 
to have somebody to talk things over with. I’ve 
felt like I was goin’ to bust the last few days. And 
I’m glad you’re gettin’ better.” 

“ Thank you,” Allan answered. “ It’s just a 
question now of getting my strength back.” 

“ Well, don’t you worry none ; let me do that,” 
and the detective took his leave, much to the satis- 
faction of Mrs. Welsh, who had been fuming out- 
side the door for the last five minutes, without 
daring to break in upon the conversation. 

“ And now,” said Allan, cheerfully, when she 
returned from showing Stanley out, “ I wish you’d 
call Tom Murray, our chief lineman, and tell him 
I want my instrument put on a board, so that I 
can use it here in bed. Of course,” he added, as 
Mary frowned mutinously, “ I could get up and 
go over there to the table, but I thought maybe 
you’d rather I stayed in bed.” 

“ Yes,” said Mary grimly, “ it’ll save us the 
trouble o’ puttin’ you there after you’ve kilt yer- 
self,” but she went and summoned the lineman, and 
in half an hour, the little instrument was removed 
from the table to a board, and Allan was work- 
ing it with his left hand, for his right arm was 
incapacitated by reason of the broken collar- 
bone. 


272 


COMPLICATIONS 

Ever since the day when he and Jim Anderson 
had rigged up a little private line for the study of 
telegraphy, he had kept an instrument in his room, 
connected with headquarters, so that he could be 
called at any hour of the night, without anyone else 
in the house being disturbed. For he had long since 
acquired that sixth sense of the telegrapher, which 
responds to its call, even though its possessor may 
be sound asleep, and awakens him much as an alarm 
clock might. 

So now, with the instrument under his hand, he 
first called up the offices and had a little chat with 
the dispatcher who was looking after his work as 
chief — work which was not exacting since traffic 
was so light ; and then, calling Cincinnati, he asked 
for Mr. Schofield. But Mr. Schofield was out 
somewhere, and Allan was forced to content him- 
self for the time being with the assurance of the 
man who answered him that everything seemed to 
be all right. 

He pushed the instrument away, at last, and lay 
back on the pillow, wearier than he cared to con- 
fess, realizing how far from strong he was. The 
shock of his terrible experience was one from which 
he would probably be long in completely recover- 
ing, but he set his teeth and resolved that he would 
not be chained to his bed an instant longer than 
was absolutely necessary. 

He dozed off, after a time, half-sleeping, half- 
waking, and Mary, opening the door and glancing 
273 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


in at him, closed it softly and went away. He 
heard her and smiled to himself and sank deeper 
among the pillows. 

It was not exactly a dream that he had as he lay 
there — it was rather a vision — a living over again 
of the incidents of that terrible day — living them 
over, though, calmly; looking at them from the 
outside, as though they were happening to some- 
one else. He saw himself struck down in the empty 
stable; saw his assailant stoop above him, and 
finally, after reconnoitring to make sure he was 
not observed, drag his victim to the house, in 
through the back door, and up the stairs to a room 
on the floor above. 

He saw himself lying there unconscious, and 
fear gripped his heart lest he might die there with- 
out awaking; but the still figure stirred presently, 
and opened its eyes. In the cellar beneath the 
house, he could see a dim shape moving about, 
illumined only by the light of a dirty lantern. It 
was gathering a pile of rubbish together and add- 
ing to it some rotten boards which it tore from 
some shelving in one corner. Then the figure 
mounted to the ground floor and collected a similar 
heap there; then to the floor above, where it en- 
tered the room in which he lay. He heard himself 
talking to it, questioning it, heard its savage re- 
sponses; then he saw it go out and shut the door 
and proceed to another room near by where five 
figures lay bound upon the floor. They cursed it, 
274 


COMPLICATIONS 


railed at it, implored it; but the fiend only laughed 
sardonically and left them. 

Then it descended leisurely to the floor below, 
and from a cupboard produced some scraps of food, 
which it proceeded to consume, after which it re- 
turned to the stable, extinguished the lantern, lay 
down upon its bed of straw and slept. How long 
it slept, Allan could not tell, but at last it arose, 
gathered the straw under one arm, and with the 
lantern swinging from the other hand, returned to 
the house. A portion of the straw was added to the 
pile of rubbish in the cellar, and the rest of it to 
the pile on the floor above. Then, the idiot opened 
the lantern and poured over the pile the kerosene 
which remained in it. Finally, with a devilish leer, 
he struck a match and touched it to the straw. 

For a moment he sat feeding the flames care- 
fully, his face more demoniac than ever in the red 
shadows which danced over it. Then, closing the 
door, he proceeded to the cellar and set fire to the 
rubbish there, and, finally, left the house and sat 
down on a little hummock of earth outside. Allan 
watched the flame grow and grow, the straw throw- 
ing off a dense cloud of smoke as it burned; he 
saw himself awaken, crawl to the door, along the 
hall, to the stairs; saw himself pitch headforemost 
through the darkness — 

“Mamie!” he cried. “Mamie!” 

And he started awake to find Mamie’s arms about 
him, and her dear face above him — 

275 


CHAPTER XXIV 


ALLAN FINDS HIS MATE 

For an instant, Mamie bent above him, gazing 
down at him, her face very tender ; then she made 
as though to draw away, but Allan threw his arm 
about her and held her tight. 

“ Is it a dream? ” he asked, “ or is it really you, 
Mamie? ” 

“ Oh, it isn’t a dream,” she answered, laughing. 

He drew a deep breath of relief as he looked up 
at her, and then glanced about the familiar room. 

“ I’ve dreamed so many times,” he said, “ and 
always you were bending over me — a sort of 
guardian angel — ‘ guarding me, out of all the 
world.’ ” 

Her colour heightened and her eyes grew bright. 

“ It’s sweet of you to say that,” she said. 

“ And you’re sure I’m not dreaming? ” 

“ No — but you were ; you were crying out — ” 

“ Yes — I thought I was still in that Old stone 
house. And I was crying for you, Mamie ! ” 

“ For me?” 

“ Yes, for you — just as I have done a dozen 
times before.” 


276 


ALLAN FINDS HIS MATE 


He stopped for an instant and gazed up into her 
eyes, and his lips were trembling. 

“ Do you know why, Mamie? ” he asked, at last. 
“ Can’t you guess why? ” 

Something in his face brought the hot colour to 
her cheeks, and she struggled to free herself from 
his arm. 

“ Let me go, Allan,” she pleaded. “ You 
mustn’t — ” 

“ Not yet. Not just for a moment. Do you 
know what you are to me, Mamie? The dearest 
thing in life ! And I’m going to kiss you.” 

“ No, no! ” she cried. “ Allan — ” 

But he drew her lips down to his — such tender 
lips they were, so sweet, so dewy. 

“ And I’m going to marry you as soon as I get 
well,” he announced, his cheek against hers. “ And 
we’ll live happy ever after, like the prince and prin- 
cess in the fairy tale. That is, of course, provided 
the princess is agreeable.” 

She drew a quick, startled breath, and lay still 
for a moment, warm against his heart; then she 
drew his hands away, raised herself and looked 
down at him with shining eyes. 

“ Do you mean it, Allan ? ” she whispered. 

“ Mean it ? I mean it as I never meant anything 
else. Put that little ear of yours down to my lips, 
Mamie. I want to tell you something.” 

“ What ? ” asked Mamie, her eyes luminous. 

“ Put your ear down.” 


277 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 

And Mamie bent a pink ear to his lips. 

“ I love you ! ” he whispered into it, and kissed it. 

Again a quick breath shook that gentle bosom — 
a breath of sheerest ecstasy — then, with a quick 
movement, Mamie turned her head and laid her lips 
to his. 

“ And I you! ” she said. “ And, oh, Allan, you 
have made me happy ! ” 

“ Nothing to what I am.” 

“ Oh, yes,” she contradicted, seriously. “ Much 
happier. You see, I never thought that you — that 
I — ” 

“ Well, go on.” 

“ I never thought that I was good enough.” 

“ Good enough! You’re a thousand times too 
good. That’s what worries me, Mamie.” 

“ I — I thought maybe, after you were married, 
you — you’d let me keep house for you, or some- 
thing of that sort, so that I could see you — ” 

“ I won’t listen ! ” cried Allan, and stopped her 
lips. 

“ Oh, but you must,” she said, freeing herself, 
“ because I want you to know. I would have been 
quite happy doing that.” 

“ Poor little Cinderella!” 

“ But the Prince has come, and the slipper fits. 
I shall always believe in fairy tales, after this,” she 
added, her eyes shining, “ because I know one that’s 
come true.” 

They were silent for a moment, too full Of their 
278 


ALLAN FINDS HIS MATE 


new happiness for any need of words. Then she 
snuggled her cheek close to his. 

“ When did you begin to love me, Allan ? ” she 
whispered, shyly. 

“ That day when I picked you up from in front 
of the locomotive.” 

“ Seriously, Allan ; tell me.” 

“ I don’t know,” he said, drawing back so that 
he could see her rosy, tender face. “ I started long 
before I knew it — away back when you were a 
little girl, I guess. I can see now how it grew and 
grew and made its foundation more and more se- 
cure, so that there was no shaking it; but I never 
woke to it till that night I came home from Cincin- 
nati and you met me at the door. Then it struck 
me all of a sudden, and it was all I could do to 
keep from taking you in my arms — ” 

Mamie gave a delighted little wiggle. 

“ I knew it ! ” she said. “ I saw it — and — I’m 
ashamed to confess it, Allan ! ” 

“ To confess what? ” 

“ How badly I wanted you to — and how I tried 
to make you.” 

He laughed delightedly. 

“ Really ? Why, you little siren ! ” 

“ Yes; but then, you know, I’d loved you much 
longer than you had me.” 

“ How much longer ? ” 

“ Oh, ages longer ; since that very first time, I 
think. You know, I kissed you then.” 

279 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


“Yes, I seem to remember something of the 
sort.” 

“ Only, of course, at first,” she added, “ I didn’t 
think about your loving anybody else, or care.” 

“ You were afraid of that? ” 

“ You did, you know,” she said, accusingly. 

“ Not really, Mamie,” he protested, earnestly. 
“ Not like this — not in the least like this. Betty 
Heywood was right when she said I was never in 
love with her — it was with girls in general, but 
not with her.” 

“ I don’t know that that makes it any better,” 
pouted Mamie. 

“ Oh, yes, it does; it isn’t in the least like being 
in love with an individual. Mamie,” he asked, 
suddenly, “ I’ve never been able to understand. 
What was it led you to me out there in that old 
house ? ” 

“ My love,” she answered, promptly. “ I don’t 
think it the least strange, Allan. When you fell 
down the stairs, you called me and I heard. How 
could I have helped but hear? ” 

“ Yes; I suppose that was it,” he agreed, holding 
her closer. “ But it was wonderful just the same.” 

“ I think anything else would have been wonder- 
ful. It seems to me the most natural thing in the 
world. I shall always hear, when you call me, 
Allan.” 

“Will you? Well, we’ll see. When are we 
going to get married, Mamie? ” 

280 


ALLAN FINDS HIS MATE 

“ Oh,” she said, and pulled herself away, and sat 
upright, with flaming cheeks. “Not for a long 
time — two years, anyway. You know, I’m only 
seventeen.” 

“ You thought that was a great age, not so very 
long ago.” 

“ It doesn’t seem so great now — and since we 
know we love each other, what does anything else 
matter? ” 

“ It matters a good deal. I’ll see about it just 
as soon as I can get about.” 

“ Do you know,” she said, looking down at him 
critically, “ I believe you’re something of a 
tyrant ? ” 

“I know I am,” he laughed, joyously; “I’m a 
good deal of a tyrant. You’ll see! ” 

“ Maybe I won’t marry you after all ! ” 

“ I’m not afraid. You’re dying for me — come 
now, Own up.” 

For an instant Mamie hesitated — the traditions 
of her sex held her back. Then she flung herself 
forward upon him and hugged him tight. 

“ I am — I am,” she cried. “ And it shall be 
whenever you say, Allan ! ” 

And just then, Mary opened the door and looked 
in. 

“ Mamie,” she began, and then stopped aston- 
ished at the sight that met her eyes. 

But Mamie had rushed to her and thrown her 
arms around her neck and was holding her tight. 

281 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


“ Oh, mummy, mummy ! ” she cried. “ Guess ! 
You could never guess! Allan — we’re — ” 

She stopped, stammering with sheer joy, and 
Mary, taking her by the shoulders, held her off and 
looked at her — at the starry eyes, at the blushing 
cheeks, at the smiling lips; and then, for the first 
time in her life, Mary Welsh quite gave way, col- 
lapsed into a chair, threw her apron over her head 
and sobbed as though her heart would break. 

“ Why, mummy ! ” cried Mamie. 

“ It’s nothin’ ! It’s nothin’ ! ” sobbed that good 
woman. “ Let — let me be — don’t you see it’s for 
joy, you foolish children,” and the storm passing 
as quickly as it had come, she pulled her apron down 
again, and kissed them both. “ It’s the happiest 
day of my life — Oh, I have hoped for it and 
prayed for it — but I never thought — wait till I 
tell Jack! An’ him out on th’ road an’ not cornin’ 
back till t’morrer night! Mamie,” she added, eye- 
ing her offspring sternly, “ do you know where you 
ought t’ be? You ought t’ be down on your knees 
thankin’ heaven fer such a man — the best ani’ 
kindest on God’s green earth ! ” 

“Oh, come!” protested Allan, laughing. “No, 
he’s not ; not by a good deal.” 

But Mary did not heed him. 

“ An’ if ever,” she continued, “ you give him 
cause for sorrow or misgivin’, you’ll answer to me, 
young lady — that you will ! ” 


282 


ALLAN FINDS HIS MATE 


And then, suddenly relenting, she caught Mamie 
to her and kissed her again. 

“ An’ now I guess I’d better take you away,” 
she added. “ You’ll be excitin’ the boy too much,.” 

“Oh, nonsense!” Allan cried. “Exciting me, 
indeed ! Don’t you see I’m a hundred per cent, bet- 
ter — there never was such medicine. Take her 
away, and I’ll go into a decline right off! ” 

“Well, I’ll leave her, then,” said Mary; “but 
mind you take your medicine ! ” 

And she went out and closed the door after her. 
Mamie came back and sat down by the bedside. 
“ I’ve got a lot to learn, you know, Allan,” she 
began seriously. “ There’s the cooking — ” 

“ Why, you’re a splendid cook.” 

“ Not nearly so good as mummy. And I 
wouldn’t have you miss her cooking.” 

“ Why, I won’t miss anything, you little goose, 
if I have you. I’ll have to look for a house. 
There’s a new one going up right back on Second 
street — it looks pretty nice — ” 

But just then, his instrument began to call him. 
“ There’s Mr. Schofield,” he said, and answered, 
as Mamie handed the board up to him. 

“ How are you ? ” was the first question. 

“ Coming along fine,” Allan answered. “ Will 
be out in a day or two.” 

“ That’s great. We need you. Things here are 
in pretty bad shape, but I’m hoping they will calm 


283 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


down. All the trouble is caused by a lot of loafers, 
and I’m trying to find out who it is that’s behind 
them. You heard about the fire at the stock- 
yards?” 

“ Yes, Stanley told me.” 

“ We’ve got the men who did that, and intend 
to put them through, but I’m sure there’s somebody 
back of them, and we’re trying to get a confession.” 

“ Do you think it’s the strikers ? ” 

“ No; lor if it is, it’s a gang of the less scrupulous 
ones.” 

“ That’s what Stanley thinks. He says Bassett’s 
at the head of it.” 

“ That’s a good idea — worth working on, any- 
way. Suppose you tell Stanley to have one of his 
best men keep an eye on Bassett. If he starts for 
Cincinnati, let me know and I’ll have him shadowed 
at this end. How are things at Wadsworth ? ” 

“ Stanley was just here and reported everything 
quiet. He says he’s worried, though, by a lot of 
tough-looking strangers who have showed up re- 
cently in the depot saloons.” 

“ Well, don’t take any chances. Swear in all the 
deputies you need. And keep everybody out of the 
yards.” 

“ I’ve already ordered that. Have we men 
enough to run the trains? ” 

“ We’re a little short, but there’s another squad 
coming on from the east to-night. There have been 
a lot here looking for jobs, but I’m afraid to hire 
284 


ALLAN FINDS HIS MATE 


them. Don’t hire anybody at Wadsworth, unless 
you’re sure of them. We must hold our men to- 
gether. I think the strikers are getting tired and 
another week will see the end of it.” 

“ I hope so.” 

“ The only thing I’m afraid of and want to guard 
against is a flare-up at the end. And that’s what 
I want you to watch for and try to prevent. Some 
of the young fire-eaters may feel so sore when they 
know they’ve lost the strike that they’ll try to take 
it out on us.” « 

“All right; and I’ll get out myself just as soon 
as I can.” 

“ Take your time — I don’t want you to get a 
relapse. I’ve heard all about that adventure of 
yours. I’ll tell you what I think about it when I 
see you.” 

“ I didn’t do anything. It was Jack Welsh and 
Reddy Magraw.” 

“ I’ve heard about them, too. And what’s this 
story about a young damsel leading the rescuers ? ” 

“ That was Welsh’s daughter.” 

“ I want to meet her when I get back to Wads- 
worth.” 

“ All right ; I’ll introduce you,” and t Allan 
chuckled. 

“ What is it, Allan ? ” asked Mamie. “ I know 
you’re saying something about me by the way 
you’re laughing.” 

But Allan silenced her with a wave of the hand. 

285 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 

“ You know what you ought to do,” added Mr. 
Schofield. 

“ What?” 

“ Marry her.” 

“ I’ll think about it,” answered Allan, chuckling 
again. 

“ Keep me posted about Bassett.” 

“ I will.” 

“ Good-bye.” 

“ Good-bye,” clicked Allan, and pushed the in- 
strument away. 

“ I see I’ll have to learn telegraphy,” said Mamie. 
“ I can’t have you talking about me to people right 
before me and me not understanding a word of it ! 
What was he saying? ” 

“ He said he wanted to meet the heroine.” 

“ Yes ; and what else? ” 

“ He said it was up to me to marry her.” 

“ And what did you tell him? ” 

“ I told him she was willing, but I hadn’t made 
up my mind.” 

“ Yes,” said Mamie, reflectively, looking sternly 
at his laughing face, “ I’ll certainly have to learn 
telegraphy.” 

“ There’s only three words you need know,” said 
Allan. “ Here they are,” and, finger on key, he 
clicked off slowly, .. — - - 

“ And what do they mean ? ” 

“ ‘ I love you,’ ” he answered. 


286 


ALLAN FINDS HIS MATE 


“ I think I like them better spoken,” said Mamie; 
“ and I suppose I’ll have to forgive you.” 

Joy is a great restorer, and the next twenty-four 
hours worked a big improvement in Allan’s condi- 
tion. The wound on his head was healing nicely, 
and he had almost recovered from the weakness 
which the loss of blood had occasioned. A broken 
collar-bone is at no time a very dangerous injury, 
and in the case of this young and vigorous fellow 
it had already begun to knit, though, of course, his 
shoulder would stay in splints for a fortnight yet. 
From the general shock which he had suffered, his 
strong young body rallied quickly, and on the after- 
noon of the day following the conversation just re- 
corded, the doctor announced that he might leave 
his bed and sit up a while. 

“ And to-morrow, doctor,” Allan added, “ I’m 
going down to the office.” 

“ We’ll see,” said the doctor, laughing. “ I don’t 
say you sha’n’t go; but I hope it won’t be neces- 
sary. I’d like to keep you quiet here for a day or 
two yet — you’ll gain by it in the end.” 

It was in his chair that Stanley found him when 
he came to make his report. 

“ No special developments,” he said. “ A few 
more strangers, but none of them has offered to 
give any trouble. I got the police to railroad a few 
of them out of town. I think the mayor’s seem’ 


287 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


a light. You know, this strike hasn’t been con- 
ducted any too well — or maybe it was because 
our side of it has been handled right — but the 
strikers are sort of losin’ heart. Bassett’s made a 
blamed fool of himself since it started. He’s been 
drunk most of the time, and had a fight last night, 
at the lodge meetin’ with Jim Adams, one of the 
oldest engineers on the road. You know he’s al- 
ways had a grudge ag’in Adams, anyway — he’s 
tried t’ do fer him afore this.” 

“ Yes,” said Allan. “ We’ve always suspected he 
tried to send him through the Jones Run bridge 
by running past it that night it was On fire.” 

“ I don’t doubt he did,” said Stanley. “ Anyway, 
he got white hot last night. I hear that even the 
special delegate sided ag’in him, and told him that 
if it happened ag’in, he’d be fired from the brother- 
hood. And I hear that Bassett’s drunker’n ever to- 
day, and threatens t’ cause more trouble at the 
meetin’ to-night. If he does, I think the jig’s up.” 

“ Well, we won’t count on it. Have you got 
enough men to patrol the yards thoroughly ? ” 

“ I’ve got thirty — that ought to be enough. I’ve 
got a string all around the yards. Nobody can git 
in who can’t show his business.” 

“ Not even after night? ” 

“ Well, o’ course, my men ain’t Owls, but they’ll 
keep open what eyes they’ve got.” 

“ Are the trains moving all right ? ” 

“ On the dot — and another thing — I hear that 
288 


ALLAN FINDS HIS MATE 


the conductors have definitely refused to join the 
strike. I guess they see which way the wind’s 
blowin’.” 

“ I’m glad of that — if all the brotherhoods were 
as sensible.” 

“ Oh, they’ll make you pay fer it the next time . 
they have a grievance,” said Stanley, with a grin. 

“ They’ll remind you how they stood by you, and 
so will the brakemen.” 

Evening came, and with it, Jack. Allan heard 
him coming up the stairs, and called to him to come 
in before he had time to knock. 

“ Come in and sit down,” said Allan. “ How’s 
everything out on the line?” 

“ Foine as silk. An’ it certainly does me good 
t’ see you settin’ up. That doctor’s all right.” 

‘ Oh, it wasn’t the doctor,” cried Allan. “ Jack, 
don’t you know — didn’t they tell you? ” 

Jack’s honest face was a-gleam, as he took Allan’s 
outstretched hand. 

“ Yes,” he said, “ they told me. An’ it’s a happy 
man I am, Allan West — happier ’n I ever thought 
I could be ! ” 

“ And it’s a happy man I am, Jack Welsh,” said 
Allan. “ You can trust her to me, Jack,” he added, 
earnestly. “ I’ll be good to her.” 

“ Don’t I know it, boy ! It’s a lucky girl she is 
— an’ a lucky family. It’s — it’s — Allan, boy, 
if I’d thought an’ thought, I couldn’ ’a’ thought of 
289 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


anything that would make me happier. Who's 
that?” he added, as a heavy step sounded on the 
stair. 

“ Faith, an' it’s Reddy Magraw ! ” cried a famil- 
iar voice. “ Your old woman was jest tellin’ me, 
Jack, when I come in t’ ask after th’ boy, there — 
tellin’ me about him an’ Mamie. An’ I jest couldn’t 
go away without seein’ both of you. Jack Welsh,” 
he added, sternly, “ what have ye got t’ say? ” 

“ Nothin’. I’m too full t’ say anything, Reddy.” 

“Well, then, I’ll say it fer ye,” said Reddy; 
“ an’ it’s this. I’d rather have a darter of mine 
wife to that boy there than t’ the king of England. 
Yes, an’ if I had a dozen darters, an’ he wanted 
’em, I’d say take ’em — an’ I’d be sorry I hadn’t 
more ! ” 


290 


CHAPTER XXV 


THE DOWNFALL OF BASSETT 

Since the beginning of the strike, the engineers’ 
headquarters had remained open continually, and, 
in addition to the informal meetings during the day, 
a formal meeting was held every evening to discuss 
the situation. These meetings, which the firemen 
also attended, had started out peacefully enough, 
but two factions had soon developed, one led by 
Simpson, the special delegate, and the other by 
Rafe Bassett. The feeling between these factions 
had steadily increased in bitterness, and had cul- 
minated the evening before, as Stanley had reported 
to Allan, in an assault by Bassett on one of the old- 
est engineers in the road’s employ. 

Simpson, early recognizing Bassett’s violent and 
quarrelsome disposition, had foreseen this develop- 
ment, and had lost no opportunity to strengthen 
himself with the conservative element and to gain 
its confidence. He had worked wisely and well, 
and the consequence was that Bassett’s following 
had melted away so rapidly that Simpson at last 
felt himself strong enough to administer a sting- 
ing warning to the offender. 

291 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 

In this victory, Simpson had been greatly aided 
by the course of events. Many of the engineers had 
opposed the strike at the outset, but had been over- 
borne by the younger element; as the days passed, 
more and more, under Simpson’s careful guidance, 
had come to acknowledge that the strike was a mis- 
take and that public opinion was turning against 
them. The older men were especially outspoken in 
their expressions of regret, and while many of the 
younger men kept up a semblance of contentment, 
it was plainly to be seen that they, too, were grow- 
ing uneasy. Almost the only one who was still 
openly pleased with the strike was Bassett him- 
self. 

The discontent with the situation had found ex- 
pression on the floor of the lodge the night before, 
when Jim Adams had suggested that a committee 
be appointed to wait upon the officials of the road, 
and see whether an agreement to end the strike 
could not be reached. It was this suggestion which 
had led to Bassett’s assault and to the subsequent 
warning and reprimand which Simpson had given 
him. 

In consequence of all this, everyone felt that af- 
fairs were reaching a crisis, and the lodge room 
was even more crowded than usual, this evening, 
as the hour for the meeting approached. The men 
gathered in little groups and discussed in low tones 
the scene of the evening before. It was evident 
that a new spirit had come over the men, and more 
292 


THE DOWNFALL OF BASSETT 


than one stated that it was his intention to approve 
the suggestion made by Adams the night before, 
and that he would not allow Rafe Bassett to roar 
him down. But none of them cared to provoke 
unnecessarily Bassett’s open enmity, for he was uni- 
versally recognized as a dangerous man, and when, 
at last, he swaggered into the room, plainly under 
the influence of liquor, an uneasy silence fell upon 
the crowd. 

The meeting was called to order, and Simpson 
arose to make a few announcements. He waited 
until Bassett, evidently spoiling for a fight, swag- 
gered noisily to a chair near the stage. 

“ There is no change in the situation,” he began. 
“ The strike is progressing quietly — ” 

“ Too blame quietly,” Bassett broke in. “ You’d 
think we was a lot o’ Sunday school kids by the 
way we set around with our hands folded, actin’ like 
sugar wouldn’t melt in our — ” 

“ Order ! Order ! ” called the chairman, rapping 
with his gavel, and Bassett subsided, growling, into 
his chair. 

“ As I was saying,” Simpson proceeded calmly, 
“ the strike is progressing quietly. One good piece 
of news I have — the fellows who tried to set fire 
to the stock-yards have been arrested and turned 
out to be a couple of saloon bums, who never 
worked on a railroad, or anywhere else, and ! of 
course never belonged to the brotherhood. I’m 
mighty glad that this effectually clears the brother- 
293 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


hood of any suspicion of being implicated in the 
affair.” 

“ How do you know they’re the ones? ” Bassett 
demanded. 

“ I understand they have confessed.” 

“ Been given the third degree, I guess. Who’s 
defendin’ ’em ? ” 

“ I don’t know, nor care. The brotherhood cer- 
tainly won’t defend them. If they haven’t any 
money, counsel for them will be appointed by the 
court, I suppose, in the usual way.” 

“ And they’ll be railroaded to the pen, also in the 
usual way,” sneered Bassett. “ It makes me sick 
the way we go back on our friends.” 

“ They’re not our friends,” said Simpson, 
sharply. “ They’re the worst enemies we’ve got. 
We’re in no way responsible for them nor indebted 
to them.” 

“ Ain’t we? ” and Bassett was on his feet again. 
“ Where’d they git the whiskey they tanked up 
on afore they tackled the job? Who give it to 
them?” 

“ I don’t know — some saloon-keeper, probably.” 

“ No, it wasn’t no saloon-keeper,” cried Bassett, 
“ an’ you know it. What would a saloon-keeper 
be givin’ away good whiskey fer? An’ more’n 
that, where’d they git the twenty dollars that was 
found on each of ’em? Did a saloon-keeper give 
’em that, too? ” 

“ Since you seem to know so much about it,” 
294 


THE DOWNFALL OF BASSETT 


said Simpson, with ominous calmness, “ suppose 
you tell us.” 

“ All right, I will tell you ! ” yelled Bassett, his 
self-control suddenly slipping from him. “ Though 
I won’t be tellin’ you no news, for all your standin’ 
there lookin’ so goody-good. It’s sneaks like you 
an’ Jim Adams, what want t’ go crawlin’ back 
lickin’ the boots of the railroad, that disgusts me 
with the brotherhood.” 

“ Sneak yourself! ” cried Adams, jumping to his 
feet and starting for Bassett, but two of his friends 
seized him and held him back. 

“ Let him come on ! ” shouted Bassett, fairly 
purple. “ I’ll fix him this time — I’ve been wantin’ 
to fer years. Let him come on ! ” 

But Adams was pulled panting back into his 
chair. 

“ Did you hear what he said ? ” he demanded of 
those about him. “ Did you hear what he said ? 
He as good as admitted he tried to do fer me that 
night at Jones Run bridge! ” 

But they weren’t listening to him; they were 
listening to Bassett, who, fairly livid with rage, had 
turned back to Simpson. 

“Yes,” he shouted, “ goody-goody sneaks like 
you an’ Adams — standin’ there lettin’ on you don’t 
know who it was put them poor devils up to firin’ 
the stock-yards ! ” 

“ I’ve already asked you to tell me,” repeated 
Simpson, quietly. 


295 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


“ It was two members of this lodge ! ” yelled Bas- 
sett, quite beside himself. “ It was two members 
of this lodge what give the whiskey an’ the cash, 
an’ they knowed what they was doin’, too ! ” 

The place was in an uproar; angry voices de- 
manded the names of the offending members, deni- 
als were shouted across the room, fists were shaken ; 
but the chairman finally succeeded in beating down 
the din until Simpson’s voice could be heard again. 
His face was flushed and there was a dangerous 
light in his eyes as he turned to Bassett, who had 
subsided into his seat again. 

“ Mr. Bassett,” he began, “ you have said too 
much not to say more. I demand the names of 
those two men.” 

But Bassett had already said more than he had 
intended to say, and heartily regretted his hasty 
tongue. 

“ I ain’t no tale-bearer,” he protested. “ I kn'ow 
what I know; but it don’t go no furder.” 

“You refuse to tell?” 

“ Yes, I do.” 

“ Then,” said Simpson, firmly, “ by virtue of the 
authority vested in me by the Grand Lodge, I sus- 
pend you from membership in the brotherhood until 
a hearing of this case can be had.” 

“ What ! ” yelled Bassett, on his feet again, his 
face purple. “ Suspend me ! Why, you — you 
snake! Boys,” he shouted, “ do you stand fer this? 


296 


THE DOWNFALL OF BASSETT 

It’s Nixon over ag’in! Oh, they’re all rotten! I 
tell you those fellers layin’ in jail down at Cincin- 
nati ought t’ be looked after by the brotherhood — 
I tell you why — I speak as a man to men — I don’t 
believe in lettin’ some corporation-owned Hamilton 
County judge railroad them to the pen. It ain’t 
right, an’ every man of you knows it ain’t right. 
But I ain’t no informer — I won’t say nothin’ more 
— an’ because I won’t, this here whipper-snapper 
from headquarters says he’ll suspend me. Boys, I 
tell you the Grand Lodge is rotten through an’ 
through. It’s owned by the railroads. It’s time 
we turned the scoundrels out ! ” 

It was a good talk, effectively delivered, and it 
carried some of the younger men with it, as was 
shown by the subdued growl which ran around the 
room. Not so very long before, it would have car- 
ried the whole lodge with it, but sentiment had 
changed. Simpson, who had gone through just 
such scenes before, never turned a hair. 

“ And I want to say to you,” he said, “ that the 
Grand Lodge is devoted to you, and you know it — 
deep down in your hearts, you know it. Yes, and 
I want to add that I think we made a mistake in 
consenting to this strike, and in my opinion the 
sooner we call it off the better. As to those fellows 
at Cincinnati, so far from defending them, the 
brotherhood has promised to pay, and will pay, a 
reward of five hundred dollars upon their convic- 


297 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


tion, and it will pay the same reward for the con- 
viction of the scoundrel who tried to dynamite the 
bridge at Parkersburg. 

“ As for this man,” he added, pointing to Bas- 
sett, “ he is no longer a member of the brotherhood 
and will not be until he is re-instated — and if that 
ever happens, which I don’t believe, it will certainly 
be against my advice. As this lodge has further 
business to transact, I would therefore ask Mr. 
Bassett to retire.” 

“ Retire yourself ! ” shouted Bassett, now thor- 
oughly enraged. “ If you want me out, you’ll have 
to put me out, an’ I’d like to see you do it ! ” 

“ Oh, I’ll do it if necessary,” retorted Simpson. 
“ But before you go, I want to say one thing to you 
for all these men to hear. It’s blackguards like you 
who bring discredit upon the brotherhood and upon 
unionism generally — blackguards who are always 
trying to get something they don’t deserve, and to 
evade something they do deserve. It’s blackguards 
like you who think the union cause is helped by 
violence, and who want every strike to be accom- 
panied by violence. Now, apart from any consider- 
ation of right or wrong — ” 

“ What is this, a sermon?” demanded Bassett, 
looking around with a raucous laugh — but it found 
no echo. 

“ Yes,” retorted Simpson ; “ and a sermon you’ll 
do well to listen to. Apart from any consideration 
of right or wrong, nothing hurts our cause like 
298 


THE DOWNFALL OF BASSETT 

violence — I think we’ve found that out — and the 
fellow who advocates violence or assists in it is an 
enemy and not a friend. And I haven’t the slightest 
doubt,” he added, wheeling upon Bassetty “ that it 
was this fellow here who was responsible for that 
fire at the stockyards.” 

Bassett, his face white and drawn with passion, 
could only sputter inarticulately for a moment. 
Then, by a mighty effort, he regained control of 
himself. 

“ You’re pipin’ a different tune,” he sneered, 
“ from what you did when you first come down 
here. Why? Have you been seen, like Nixon was? 
Have you got a wad of railroad money in your 
pocket ? ” 

“ Sergeant-at-arms,” called Simpson, “ this fel- 
low is not a member of this lodge. Remove him, 
so that the meeting can proceed.” 

Then Simpson sat down and awaited the event 
with serene confidence. For, as has been stated, 
he had been in just such a position more than once 
before, and he had planned carefully to meet this 
crisis. The sergeant-at-arms, instructed beforehand 
in his duties, summoned two assistants and ad- 
vanced upon Bassett. For a moment, it was evi- 
dent that that individual meditated resistance ; then, 
as he sized up the three stalwart men confronting 
him, he realized the futility of it. 

“ All right,” he said; “I’ll go. But don’t put 
your hands on me — I won’t stand that. An’ I 
299 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


just want to say One thing : you’ll all of you regret 
this night’s work.” 

And catching up his overcoat, he followed the 
sergeant-at-arms to the door, which closed after 
him a moment later. 

The night’s experience had sobered him, but 
nevertheless he reeled slightly as he went down the 
stairs — not with intoxication, but with a kind of 
vertigo of rage. He paused at the foot of the 
stairs to recover himself. 

“ They framed it up on me ! ” he muttered to 
himself. “ The hounds ! To think of their framin’ 
it up on me ! ” 

And he got out his handkerchief and mopped his 
forehead with shaking hand. Then, entering the 
saloon on the ground floor of the building, he asked 
for two quart bottles of whiskey. 

The bartender, an old acquaintance, ventured to 
protest. 

“ Look here, Rafe,” he said, “ you’re goin’ it too 
strong. Better let up a little, old man.” 

“ Oh, this ain’t fer me,” answered Bassett, laugh- 
ing grimly. “ I’m givin’ a little blow-out to-night. 
This is fer the company,” and putting a bottle in 
each coat-pocket, he hurried from the place. 

The bartender gazed after him speculatively, for 
there was a strangeness in his manner, a sort of 
menace, as of a man who has thrown down the 
gauntlet to society, regardless of the consequences, 
but other customers demanded attention, and the 
300 


THE DOWNFALL OF BASSETT 

bartender soon forgot all about the incident. Could 
he have followed Bassett, he would have been more 
and more surprised; for the latter’s path did not 
lead him home, nor to any place suggestive of a 
social function. Instead, he turned down the near- 
est alley, came out upon the railroad track and fol- 
lowed it toward the river. Once he passed a track- 
walker, but the latter did not recognize the dark 
figure apparently hurrying toward home. 

The road ran past back yards, from which an 
occasional dog saluted him, crossed a street at an 
angle, skirted a row of tumble-down brick build- 
ings, and then emerged upon the river bank, which 
it skirted for perhaps half a mile. Upon this bank, 
in the days when municipal sanitation was not what 
it now is, a number of slaughter-houses had been 
built, because of the convenience of running their 
refuse into the river. This had been stopped some 
years before, and the buildings, already decrepit and 
decayed, had fallen into a still more disreputable 
condition. 

A high board fence surrounded the little stretch 
of ground in front of them, and before this Bassett 
paused, groped an instant, pulled aside a loose board 
and slipped through. He let the board slide into 
place behind him, crossed the dirty yard, and, pro- 
ducing a key from his pocket, applied it to the lock 
of the first door he came to. An instant later, he 
had opened the door and entered. 

An odour incredibly foul and overpowering 
301 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


greeted him, and he paused to catch his breath, as 
it were. Then, groping his way forward along the 
wall, he came to another door, which he opened. 
Carefully closing it behind him, he struck a match. 
Its glow revealed a black pit yawning before him, 
into which plunged a steep and narrow stair. On a 
ledge at the top was a candle-end, and lighting this 
and holding it before him, Bassett descended the 
stair, which creaked and groaned ominously under 
his weight. At the bottom he blew out his candle 
and placed it carefully on the lowest step. 

He could hear the ripple of the river close at 
hand, but no other sound, for he was at the bottom 
of the shaft which led to the water’s edge. He ap- 
parently knew the place well, for he felt his way 
forward until his hands touched a board partition. 
Upon this he rapped sharply three times and then, 
after an interval, a fourth. 

Instantly there was a sharp click and a little door 
swung open, disclosing a man holding a candle 
above his head and peering out into the darkness — 
a little, shrivelled man, with livid, pock-marked face 
and venomous eyes. 

“ All right, Hummel,” said Bassett, and stepped 
inside and drew the door shut after him. 


302 


CHAPTER XXVI 


NEMESIS 

The place which Bassett had entered was a 
squalid little enclosure, eight or nine feet square, 
with the floor of the slaughter-house for a roof, 
rough slabs for walls, and the earth of the river 
bank for a floor. A rude fireplace of loose bricks 
had been built in one corner, the smoke from which 
was conducted up through a stove-pipe into the 
empty slaughter-house above. A little pile of coal, 
stolen from a near-by coalyard, occupied one cor- 
ner, and a dirty bed, formed by some boards thrown 
across two boxes, another. Three boxes took the 
place of chairs and table, and another box nailed 
against the wall, served as a cupboard. The floor 
was littered with empty cans and whiskey bottles 
and scraps of refuse, and was slippery and slimy 
with dampness from the river. 

Hummel placed the candle on one of the boxes 
and then turned to his visitor, his face more loath- 
some than ever. Face, hands and clothing were 
caked with dirt. His hands were trembling as 
though with palsy, and it was evident that he was 
on the verge of delirium tremens. 

303 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


Without waiting for him to speak, Bassett, seeing 
his condition at a glance, drew from his pocket 
one of the bottles he had just purchased, and held 
it out to him. 

Hummel, with a low exclamation of relief and 
joy, seized it, knocked off the head, and snatching 
up a dirty tumbler, filled it from, the bottle and 
drained the last drop. Then he set bottle and glass 
down beside him with a sigh of satisfaction. 

“ That’s better,” he said. “ You ain’t been 
treatin’ me right, Rafe. You oughtn’t to let me 
run out.” 

“ Run out ! ” Bassett repeated. “ Good Lord ! 
I’ll have to start a distillery t’ keep you from run- 
nin’ out ! I never see a man who could swill whis- 
key like you kin — a gallon a day ain’t nothin’ ! 
Why, you’re a reg’lar tank, with no bottom, at 
that!” 

Hummel glared at him evilly, then poured out 
another glass full of .the liquor and swallowed 
it. 

“ What’s that to you ? ” he demanded. “ You 
know what the bargain was — an’ I’m ready to do 
my part whenever you say the word.” 

“ An’ I’m ready t’ do mine,” declared Bassett, 
and drew the other bottle from his pocket and set 
it on the ground. “ Is that enough fer to-night ? ” 

“ Yes, I guess so,” said Hummel, sullenly. 
“ But I’m gittin’ tired of settin’ here in this hog- 


304 


NEMESIS 


pen, drinkin’ myself t’ death. I’ve got some little 
spark of decency left in me, though you mayn't 
think it. Why don't we do something?” 

“ We’ll do something to-night ! ” said 1 Bassett, 
with sudden fury. “ Where’s the gang? ” 

“ They've weakened,” said Hummel, glancing 
sullenly at the other. “ Since them fellers were 
crimped at Cincinnati fer that stock-yards business, 
they won't do nothin’.” 

“They won’t, hey?” cried Bassett. “Then they 
don’t git no pay. They’ve got all o’ my money 
they’re goin’ t’ git ! ” 

“ They know that ! ” sneered Hummel. “ It 
wasn’t so awful much, anyway. They skipped out 
to-night.” 

“ Skipped out? ” 

“ Yes — caught a freight back to Cinci.” 

Bassett pondered this a moment, with knitted 
brows. 

“ All right,” he said, at last. “ We don’t need 
’em. But I didn’t think any friends o’ yourn would 
be so white-livered.” 

“ They ain’t white-livered, but they don’t like 
t’ git the double cross.” 

“ Who give ’em the double cross ? ” demanded 
Bassett, threateningly. “ Do you mean me? ” 

“ Well,” replied Hummel, avoiding his eye, “ I 
ain’t namin’ no names. But somebody peached on 
them stock-yards fellers.” 


305 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 

“ It wasn’t me. Why, just because I stood up 
fer ’em t’-night, I got fired out o’ the brotherhood 
by that smooth snake of a Simpson.” 

“ Got fired out, did you ? ” queried Hummel, his 
eyes lighting with an evil glint of satisfaction. 
“ Then the jig’s up? ” 

“No, it ain’t up — not by a good deal. Rafe 
Bassett has got a lot o’ fight in him yet. But first 
I’m goin’ t’ git even. Is everything ready ? ” 

“ Yes — been ready fer three days.” 

“ Kin we two carry it? ” 

“ I kin carry it myself. It ain’t heavy.” 

“ An’ you’re sure it’ll work? ” 

“ I made it — an’ it ain’t the first I’ve made by 
a blame sight.” 

“ All right,” said Bassett, looking at his compan- 
ion with something like respect. “ Come on, then,” 
and he rose and buttoned his coat. 

But Hummel sat still. His eyes were burning 
with a strange fire, and Bassett looked at him with 
some uneasiness. He had never been quite sure of 
Hummel ; he regarded him a good deal as he might 
have done a deadly snake which he was keeping 
in captivity to use against an enemy, but always 
with the feeling that the snake might at any time 
turn against himself. 

“ Well,” he added, after a moment, “ ain’t you 
cornin’ ? ” 

“ Not just yet,” answered Hummel, calmly. “ I 
want t’ talk t’ you a little, first. Set down.” 

306 


NEMESIS 


“ We’d better be gittin’ along,” Bassett pro- 
tested, but he sat down nevertheless. 

“ Now,” proceeded Hummel, deliberately, “ you 
know after we pull this thing off, I’ll want to git 
away, an’ git away quick. This won’t be a healthy 
neighbourhood fer either of us. I don’t want t’ 
have t’ wait around fer you, an’ mebbe miss you, 
at that.” 

Nobody wants you to,” broke in Bassett impa- 
tiently. “ What is it you’re drivin’ at, anyway?” 

“ I’m drivin’ at this,” said Hummel. “ I want 
my pay here an’ now.” 

Bassett sat for a moment contemplating him with 
hostile eyes. 

“ Half now an’ half afterwards,” he said, at last. 

“ No, sir! ” Hummel objected positively. “ Here 
an’ now, all' of it. Else I don’t go.” 

“ But look here,” Bassett protested, “ suppose I 
do give you the money, how do I know you’ll do 
your part ? ■' 

“ Well,” said Hummel, grimly, “ I guess you’ll 
have t’ trust me. But don’t be afeerd — I’ll do it, 
an’ do it right ! ” 

There was nothing to do but yield — Bassett 
recognized that plainly enough, for Hummel, in his 
present mood, was not to be argued with; besides, 
his demand was reasonable enough. The liquor 
was turning him into a demon who would stop 
at nothing — the very thing which Bassett had 
counted on it doing — and he was anxious to get 
307 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER ' 

the plot under way before the inevitable reaction 
set in. So, reluctantly enough, for it represented 
the last not only of his savings but of his credit, 
Bassett put his hand in his pocket, drew out his 
wallet and slowly counted five ten-dollar bills into 
Hummel’s outstretched hand. 

“ There,” he said, with an oath, “ I hope you’re 
satisfied.” 

Hummel folded the bills up and thrust them 
into an inside pocket. 

“ I am,” he said ; “ an’ I’m ready whenever you 
are. But don’t think I’m doin’ this job fer this 
dirty money. I ain’t. I’ve got t’ have this t’ make 
my getaway, but I’m doin’ this t’ git even with that 
little snake of a chief dispatcher, an’ t’ show these 
corporations that there’s some people will stand up 
fer their rights. I’m an anarchist, I am,” he con- 
tinued, growing more and more excited from min- 
ute to minute. “ I’m — ” 

But Bassett had had enough of it, and his hand 
closed savagely upon the other’s arm. 

“ Cut it out ! ” he cried. “ Don’t waste time 
in poppin’ off — do somethin’. Where’s the 
stuff?” 

“ Here it is,” said Hummel, and sprang toward 
the pile of coal in one corner. Clearing it away, 
he brought to light a box perhaps a foot square. 
He snapped open the lid, and took out a small tube 
about nine inches in length. “ That’s a little one 
fer me, in case I need it,” he said, his eyes gleam- 
308 


NEMESIS 

ing, and thrust it into his pocket. “ They’ll never 
take me alive.” 

“ See here, Hummel,” protested Bassett, his face 
considerably paler than usual, “ don’t you do nothin’ 
foolish. That’s dangerous stuff to have around 
you.” 

“Oh, I know how t’ handle it! Better take a 
drink t’ keep up your nerve — you’ll need it ! ” 

Bassett, whose hands were shaking slightly, si- 
lently acknowledged the wisdom of the advice and 
poured himself out a drink. Hummel waited till 
he had finished, then poured the remainder of the 
contents of the bottle into the glass, and drained it, 
throwing the empty bottle to join the others on 
the floor. 

“You go ahead,” he said, “an’ wait fer me 
under the lower end of the freight platform. I’ll 
bring the stuff. We mustn’t be seen together.” 

“ All right,” Bassett assented, glad to get away 
from his dangerous neighbourhood, and he went 
out, closing the door after him. 

Hummel picked up the full bottle of whiskey, 
and getting out a knife which had a corkscrew at- 
tachment, drew the cork. Then he replaced it 
lightly and put the bottle in his pocket. 

“ I’ll need that,” he said to himself, and then, 
blowing out the candle, he left the room and groped 
his way up the stairs and out of the slaughter-house, 
the mysterious box under his arm. 

He chose an alley which led away from the track, 
309 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


and then another which crossed it at right angles, 
and at the end of five minutes came out opposite 
the freight-house. He had met no one, for the 
night was dark and windy, with a dash of rain now 
and then. He stood peering across the street at 
the freight-house, until he saw a guard pass the 
circle of light at the door and disappear around the 
corner of the building. Then, tucking the box 
more firmly under his arm, he crossed the street 
like a shadow and disappeared beneath the plat- 
form. He worked his way along to the end of it, 
and nearly fell over Bassett, who was sitting under 
the platform there awaiting him. 

“ For God’s sake, man, be careful ! ” Bassett 
whispered hoarsely, a cold sweat breaking out upon 
him at thought of what would happen if Hummel 
fell. 

“ Oh, I’m all right,” retorted Hummel, easily, 
and sat down beside the other, placing the box 
beside him. “ Suppose I just drop this little feller 
right here,” he went on, pensively, taking the small 
tube from his pocket. “ That’ll set off the big one, 
too, an’ I reckon there’d be considerable of a hole, 
without so much as a grease-spot left of you an’ 
me. What d’ you say to a jump into the next 
world, Rafe? We ain’t been much of a success 
in this one! ” 

“ Now, see here, Hummel,” protested Bassett, 
savagely, the cold chills chasing each other up and 
down his spine, for he was not sure but that Hum- 
310 


NEMESIS 


mel, in his desperate mood, was capable of carry- 
ing out his threat, “drop that nonsense. I’ve 
paid you t’ do certain work, an’ you’re goin’ t’ do 
it!” 

“ All right,” agreed the other, shortly. “ I’ll 
plant the mine — ” 

He ceased abruptly as he heard the guard’s foot- 
steps on the platform overhead; but the sound 
passed without pausing. 

“ I’ve got a fuse that burns fifteen minutes — 
plenty of time for a getaway. Good-bye, if I don’t 
see you again.” 

“ Good-bye,” answered Bassett. “ But I’ll see 
you again all right.” 

He listened while the other worked his way for- 
ward under the platform toward the freight-shed, 
and then, when the sound had died away, he stuck 
his head out from under the platform and looked 
around. The wind had risen and was singing 
through the wires overhead. 

“ What a night fer a fire ! ” he muttered. “ I’ve 
got time — fifteen minutes, anyway — I’ll make a 
try fer it ! ” 

A string of freight cars was drawn up beside the 
platform, and Bassett, trawling cautiously forth, 
peered into them, one after another. Some were 
empty, some were half-loaded, some were sealed 
ready to be sent east or west. Once he heard foot- 
steps approaching and skulked beneath a car until 
they passed. Then he continued his quest, and at 
311 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


last, with a chuckle of satisfaction, found what he 
was looking for, yet scarcely expected to find — a 
car half-filled with barrels of oil. Evidently the 
work of unloading had been uncompleted at night- 
fall and the car had been left with the door only 
half-closed. 

After a moment’s pause, to make certain that 
he was not observed, Bassett drew himself up into 
the car, then, grasping the edge of the door, he 
pulled it shut. Secure from observation, he struck 
a match, and, shading it with his hand, looked 
around. The barrels had been removed from the 
middle of the car, but were still stacked at each end. 
They were dripping with oil and little puddles 
stood upon the floor. Evidently the touch of a 
match would set the whole car aflame, and would 
start a fire which no water would extinguish. 
There were cars to right and left — and with that 
wind! He chuckled again as he thought of the 
result. He would show them whether Rafe Bassett 
was to be treated like a dog — insulted, kicked 
out — 

He carefully extinguished the match, and then, 
after a moment’s thought, drew a newspaper from 
his pocket, and, unfolding it, twisted it into a long 
fuse. Then, lighting another match, he dabbled 
one end of the paper in a puddle of oil and pressed 
it down with his foot until it was sticking to the 
floor of the car. So intent was he on this that he 
failed to note that the match had burnt down to 
312 


NEMESIS 


his fingers, and as the flame touched him, he in- 
voluntarily dropped it. 

Instantly there was a flash and a roar and the 
whole car seemed to burst into flame. Shielding 
his face with one arm, Bassett sprang to the door 
and tried to push it back, but he jammed it in his 
haste and could not move it. He saw his trousers 
afire and stopped to beat out the flame; his trousers 
caught again — his coat — his hat — his hair — 

Then he understood, and with a shrill scream of 
terror turned again to the door, clawing at it, 
scratching at it, tearing at it like a wild beast. An- 
other moment, and the flames were swirling about 
him — another moment and he could feel his flesh 
crisping under their white-hot touch; another mo- 
ment — and the door rolled back and he fell for- 
ward out of the car, afire from head to foot. 


r 


313 


CHAPTER XXVII 


THE BOMB 

The watchman in the upper yards, passing wea- 
rily on his rounds at eleven o’clock of that windy 
February night, and deeply thankful that his trick 
would end in half an hour, stopped suddenly, ears 
a-strain, fancying that he had heard, above the 
shrieking of the wind, the shrieking of a human 
voice coming from the string of cars which 
stretched down into the lower yards. Then, de- 
ciding that it was only the wind, after all, he started 
on his way again, only to be startled by another 
scream there was no mistaking — a scream shrill, 
agonized, telling of the last extremity of suffering 
and terror. 

Drawing his revolver, he started toward the cars 
as fast as his legs would carry him. As he drew 
nearer, the screams increased in shrillness and 
agony, and it required no little will-power on the 
part of the watchman to keep his legs moving in 
the right direction. The thought flashed through 
his brain that a man was being slowly torn to pieces 
by some ferocious wild beast, but just as he turned 
314 


THE BOMB 


the end of the row of cars, he saw a sudden burst 
of flame from one of them, and a blazing figure 
pitched out headlong to the ground, — a figure 
which, with a sudden sense of sickness, the watch- 
man recognized as a human being. 

Blowing a shrill blast on his whistle, and pulling 
off his overcoat as he ran, he hastened forward. 
In a moment he was beside the moaning, struggling, 
blackened figure, and threw his overcoat over it, 
his heart faint within him, smothering the flames 
and beating at them with his gloves. Another 
watchman, summoned by the whistle, ran up at that 
moment. 

“ What’s the trouble ? ” 

“ Man burned t’ death,” panted the other. 

“ Who is he?” 

“ I don’t know ; but he’s done for, whoever he 
is. You ought to heard him screamin’! ” 

They worked together feverishly for a moment 
longer, and beat out the last of the flames, but it 
was evident that the unfortunate man at their feet 
was far past human aid. He was still moaning and 
jerking convulsively, but was mercifully uncon- 
scious and would no doubt remain so to the end. 

“ We’ve got t’ git away from here, an’ that 
mighty quick,” said one of the men, with a glance 
at the seething inferno beside them. “ That car’s 
loaded with oil, an’ it’s goin’ to blow up in about 
a minute.” 

“ How’re we goin’ to carry him? ” 

315 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


“ Roll him on my overcoat — we can carry him 
that way.” 

“ I don’t want to touch him,” faltered the other. 
“ He — he comes off on your fingers.” 

But the first watchman, with an exclamation of 
impatience, spread his overcoat beside the blackened 
body and rolled it over with his foot. 

“ Now, take a hold of that end,” he said, “ an’ 
git a move on.” 

They gathered up the burden gingerly, and started 
away at a trot — not a. moment too soon, for they 
had gone scarcely a hundred feet, when the car 
exploded with a mighty roar. Blazing oil was 
hurled over everything in the neighbourhood, and 
instantly a dozen cars were afire — the flames roar- 
ing and crackling furiously before the wind. 

Stanley, awakened by the arrival of a crew from 
an incoming train and the departure of another to 
take its place, lay for a while looking down the 
room and watching the new arrivals prepare for 
bed. He was a restless man and light sleeper at 
the best, and he devoutly hoped that the strike was 
nearing an end. The strain was beginning to tell 
on his nerves, never any too steady, and he longed 
for his comfortable and quiet bed. The air in the 
freight-house had become fetid from the exhala- 
tions of fifty men, not over dainty in their personal 
habits, and with a sudden sense of disgust, Stanley 
threw back the covers and sat up in bed. 

316 


THE BOMB 


As he did so, it seemed to him that he heard a 
faint knocking at the wall underneath him. He 
listened a moment, but it was not repeated, and 
he decided it was merely the vibration from a pass- 
ing engine. But he was burdened with a queer 
feeling of suffocation, and slipping into his clothes, 
he went out to the platform for a breath of fresh 
air. 

He was worried. He knew, somehow, that, dur- 
ing his absence in pursuit and prosecution of the 
robbers, he had lost his grip of the situation. 

It had got, in some subtle way, beyond his con- 
trol, and he felt the necessity of being “ on the 
job ” at every hour of the day and night. It was 
as though he were shadowed by some impending 
calamity, which he could not avoid. 

He heard steps approaching along the platform 
and in a moment the freight-house watchman 
emerged from the darkness. 

“ Everything quiet? ” Stanley asked. 

“ Everything but the wind,” answered the watch- 
man, laughing at his own joke, and passed on his 
way. 

“ Blamed fool ! ” Stanley muttered to himself, 
for the jest and the laugh jarred on him. “ Em 
gettin’ as nervous as a cat,” he added, and walked 
slowly down the platform, trying to shake off the 
feeling of depression. 

Another thing disturbed him. The tough-look- 
ing strangers whom he had observed loitering about 
317 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


the depot-saloons for several days past, had sud- 
denly disappeared. He had made discreet inquiries, 
but no one seemed to know who they were or what 
had become of them. Where had they gone, he 
asked himself; where were they at this moment? 
He had heard some vague rumours of the row at 
the brotherhood meeting, and he could imagine 
Bassett’s rage and chagrin. He had always con- 
nected the strangers with Bassett, in some indefinite 
way, and a little shiver shook him at the thought 
that perhaps Bassett had taken them with him to 
execute some fiendish project. Perhaps — 

The piercing note of a watchman’s whistle 
shrilled through the night, and Stanley, waking 
from this reverie with a start, saw a sudden burst 
of flame from the cars just before him, and realized 
that the crisis he had vaguely expected was at 
hand. And the realization made his nerves taut 
and his head clear. Not even his worst enemies 
had ever accused Stanley of cowardice in the face 
of danger. 

“ Call the fire department and the police and get 
out all our men ! ” he shouted to the freight-house 
watchman, who had just come into view again, and 
started with a jump toward the fire, which was 
growing brighter every instant. 

But suddenly he checked himself and swerved in 
his course, for from beneath the platform almost 
at his feet, he saw a dim form emerge and slink 
away through the darkness. 

318 



a 


HE HEARD THE BULLETS SING PAST HIS HEAD 


)> 










































w 1 7 










































i 








' % 

























THE BOMB 

Stanley was off the platform and after him in 
an instant. 

“ Halt ! ” he shouted, drawing his revolver. 
“ Halt, or I fire!” 

And, as if in answer, phitt! phitt! came two 
flashes of flame out of the darkness ahead, and he 
heard the bullets sing past his head. 

“ Take it, then! ” he said, between his teeth, and 
fired at the legs of the figure ahead. 

The figure ran on, and Stanley raised his hand 
to fire again; but in a moment he saw that this 
would not be necessary, for the fugitive was no 
match for him in speed and he gained upon him 
rapidly. Apparently, the stranger perceived the 
folly of flight, at last, for he stopped, one hand 
against his side, and waited for his pursuer to over- 
take him. He had not long to wait, for in an in- 
stant Stanley’s heavy hand fell upon his shoulder. 

“ Drop that revolver ! ” said the detective, and 
knocked it with a quick blow from his prisoner’s 
hand. 

“ Oh, it’s jammed,” said the other, with a little 
bitter laugh. “ If it hadn’t been fer that, I’d ’a’ 
got you ! ” 

“What’s your game?” Stanley demanded, and 
swung his prisoner around so that he could see his 
face. “ Why,” he cried, chuckling with satisfac- 
tion, “ if it ain’t our old friend Hummel! This cer- 
tainly is a pleasant meeting. Welcome to our 
city!” 


319 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


Hummel’s face was livid and his blackened and 
swollen lips were drawn away from his teeth in an 
ugly snarl. 

“ Don’t be too gay ! ” he said, thickly. “ Don’t 
be too gay ! Mebbe you’ll be laughin’ on the other 
side of your face afore long ! ” 

“ Well, one couldn’t tell which side you’re 
laughin’ on,” retorted Stanley, “ fer the dirt. Been 
livin’ with your friends the hogs ? ” 

“ Never you mind!” said Hummel, still more 
thickly, and reeled a little and put his hands to his 
head. “ Never you mind ! ” 

“ Why, I believe the man’s drunk! ” said Stanley. 
“ Come on back with me, my friend, an’ I’ll send 
you up-town in style, behind two horses, with a 
gong ringin’ in front. Come on,” and he started 
to lead his prisoner back toward the freight-house. 

But Hummel developed a sudden limpness and 
sat down suddenly upon the pavement. 

“ What d’ you want me fer ? ” he demanded, sul- 
lenly. 

Stanley waved his hand toward the growing con- 
flagration, which, at that instant, burst, with a 
mighty report, into a fountain of flame. 

“ For that,” he said, sternly. “ Come along, or 
I’ll find a way to make you ! ” 

“ I didn’t do that,” protested Hummel, staring 
toward the fire, as though conscious of it for the 
first time. “ That must ’a’ been — ” 


320 


THE BOMB 


“ Who ? ” asked Stanley, as Hummel suddenly 
checked himself. 

“No matter/’ answered that worthy. 

Stanley, his patience exhausted, jerked the little 
man to his feet and struck him over the head with 
his revolver. 

“ Come on,” he said savagely, “ I ain’t got no 
time to waste on you! Step lively, or I’ll put you 
to sleep.” 

Away in the distance, he could hear the growing 
rattle of the engine gongs and knew, with a breath 
of relief, that the fire department was at hand. He 
knew something else, too — that within a very few 
minutes, a great mob would be upon the scene, 
which it would take the hardest kind of work to 
control. The windows in the neighbourhood had 
been thrown up at sound of the explosion — he 
could hear the hum of voices, the cries of alarm. 
He had no time to fool with a reluctant prisoner, 
and he jerked him again to his feet. 

“ Will you come? ” he demanded. 

“ No,” answered Hummel, his face yellow with 
terror, struggling desperately to free himself. 

Then Stanley lost his temper and raised his arm 
to strike. 

But even as he did so, a mighty roar seemed to 
rend the firmament above him, the earth rocked, and 
a blinding flame leapt upwards towards the heavens. 
There was an instant’s appalling silence, and then 


331 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


came the sound of crashing walls, the rending of 
timbers — and again all was still. 

Only for a breath — then the night was filled 
with yells and groans and curses. And the whole 
neighbourhood, wakened by the roar, leaped from 
bed and rushed out into the streets, white-lipped and 
trembling. 

Allan West, having slept the greater part of the 
day and evening, found himself restless and wake- 
ful as the night progressed, and at last lay staring 
up into the darkness above him, meditating with 
smiling lips, on the events of the day. That this 
great happiness should have come to him seemed 
almost past believing — he had done so little to 
deserve it, had escaped so narrowly a nearly fatal 
blunder. 

He cast his mind back over the years he had 
spent with the Welshes, remembering how he had 
seen Mamie grow from a child of eight, through 
all the stages of girlhood, to the radiant young 
womanhood she had attained; he had seen her 
sweetness of disposition tested scores of times; 
he knew how true and honest and loving she was, 
and he could not but wonder at his own blindness, 
at his tardy awakening to his love for her. Most 
wonderful of all it seemed that she should care 
for him, that she — 

The window rattled suddenly and sharply, the 
house seemed to quiver, as though struck by some 
322 


THE BOMB 


giant hand, and almost instantly there came a deep, 
jarring roar. A moment later, Allan heard the 
distant ringing of the fire alarm, heard excited 
footsteps along the street, and groped blindly along 
the floor for the board to which his instrument was 
attached. 

He found it at last, seized it, pulled it up, and 
began calling the dispatchers’ office. Fully a min- 
ute passed before the answer came, and he knew 
that the dispatcher had not been at his key. 

“ This is West,” he clicked. “ Any trouble up 
there?” 

“ Trouble ! ” flashed back the answer, in a stac- 
cato which told how excited the sender was. “ I 
should say so! All the cars in the yards are afire 
and the freight-house is blown up! ” 

Allan gently replaced the instrument on the floor 
and slid out of bed. He groped his way to the 
closet, got out his clothes and slipped into them as 
quietly as he could. Shirt and coat gave him some 
trouble, but he managed to get them on, gritting 
his teeth at the pain the movement cost him. Then, 
without collar or tie, which he knew were beyond 
him, even if he had cared to linger for such trifles, 
he took his shoes in his hand^ opened his door softly, 
and started down the stairs, hoping that he might 
get away unseen. 

But before he was half way down, he heard light 
steps behind him and a low voice. 

“ Allan ! ” it called. 


323 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


He turned as Mamie came flying down to him, 
visible only as a dim shape in the darkness. 

“ You’re not going out!” she protested, her 
hands upon his shoulders. 

“ I must,” he said, bending and kissing her. 
“ The strikers have fired the yards and blown up 
the freight-house. I’ve got to go.” 

“ But you’re not able ! ” 

“ Oh, yes, I am,” he contradicted lightly, but he 
was grateful for the darkness which hid his face 
from her anxious eyes. 

“ And there’ll probably be more trouble.” 

“ All the more reason I should be there. You 
wouldn’t have me be a coward, Mamie ! ” 

It was the one appeal to touch her, and he knew 
it. 

“ No,” she said, “ I wouldn’t have you be a 
coward. Go if you must; but, oh, Allan dear, be 
careful of yourself for my sake ! ” 

“ I will,” he promised and kissed her again, as 
she went with him down the stairs. “ I’ve got to 
put on my shoes,” he added. “ I thought maybe I 
could get away and be back and in bed again with- 
out anyone knowing.” 

“ Let me put them on,” she said quickly. “ You 
can never manage it. You know, in the old days, 
the ladies used to buckle on the armour of their 
knights,” and she took the shoes from him, pressed 
him into a chair and knelt before him. 


324 


THE BOMB 


“ I’m sure no knight ever had a fairer lady,” 
and he caressed her hair with tender hand. 

He could feel the head lift proudly. 

“ Nor any lady a braver knight,” she said. 

“ ‘ I could not love thee, dear, so much, 

Loved I not honour more! ’ ” 

Allan hummed. “ But what an imagination you’ve 
got, Mamie! ” 

“ Yes — you know I’m Irish.” 

“ And what a warm, loyal heart ! ” 

“That’s Irish, too, isn’t it? And there the ar- 
mour’s on ! ” she added, rising. u And now your 
overcoat, for it’s bitter cold, and this muffler around 
your neck,” and she tucked the ends in under his 
coat. “ There,” she concluded, buttoning the last 
button, and raised herself on tip-toe and kissed him. 
“ Good-bye, Allan, and come back to me.” 

“ Good-bye, Mamie; never fear,” and he was off 
and away. 

And Mamie, drawing closer about her the shawl 
she had thrown on when she slipped out of bed, 
hurried up the stairs and knocked at the door of 
the room where her parents slept. It was in the 
back wing of the house, farthest from the street, 
which accounted for the fact that they had not been 
awakened by the hurrying feet and excited talk of 
the ever-increasing crowd running toward the fire. 
But Mamie’s knock awakened Mary on the instant. 


325 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 

“ What is it? ” she called. 

“ It’s Mamie — the strikers have set the yards 
on fire and blown up the freight-house — and Al- 
lan’s gone ! ” 

“ Gone ! ” echoed Mary, and sprang out of bed. 
“Jack!” she cried. “Wake up!” and she re- 
peated to him what Mamie had just told her. 

Jack, with never a word, was out of bed and into 
his clothes, while his wife, with trembling fingers, 
lighted a lamp and opened the door for Mamie. 

“How do you know he’s gone?” demanded 
Mary. “ Did you see him? ” 

“ Yes,” said the girl, her white face and trem- 
bling lips telling of her struggle for self-control. 

“ And you let him go ? ” 

“ He had to go — it was his place to go.” 

“ She’s right, mother,” broke in Jack. “ He had 
to go. I’m proud of the boy. An’ I’ll see no harm 
comes to him.” 

“ Thank you, dad,” said Mamie, simply, and 
kissed him. “ You’ll telephone as soon as the dan- 
ger’s over? ” 

“Yes,” Jack promised; “an’ don’t be worried.” 

They heard the front door slam after him, and 
the house was still. 

“ I’m going to get dressed,” said Mamie ; “ then 
— then if anything happens, we’ll be ready.” 

She stole away to her room, but she did not pro- 
ceed immediately to dress. Instead, she slipped 
down beside her bed and threw her arms forward 
326 


THE BOMB 

across it and buried her face in them — and when, 
five minutes later, she arose, it was with a coun- 
tenance pale, indeed, but serene and almost smil- 
ing. 

She found her mother awaiting her in the dining- 
room, and they sat down together and — waited. 
There is no harder task, and as the weary minutes 
dragged along, they dared not look at each other, 
lest their self-control slip from them. So half an 
hour passed, until Mrs. Welsh could stand it no 
longer. 

“ I’m going to git some news,” she said, and went 
to the telephone, but central could tell her little more 
than she already knew, for everything was confu- 
sion as yet at the scene of the outrage. The dis- 
patchers’ office was busy and refused to answer any 
call. So Mary hung up the receiver again and came 
back to Mamie. “ I’ll try again after a while,” she 
said, and again they nerved themselves to wait. 

But not for long. 

For suddenly, the telephone rang sharply. 

“ I’ll go,” said Mary, and Mamie sat where she 
was, clutching blindly at her chair, biting her lips 
until the blood came. 

“ He’s not hurt ! ” she said, over and over to 
herself. “ He’s not hurt ! He’s not hurt ! It can’t 
be ! It sha’n’t be ! He’s not hurt ! ” 

“ Is that you, Mary? ” asked Jack’s voice. 

“Yes; what’s the matter? — your voice don’t 
sound natural.” 


327 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


“ The boy's hurted,” said Jack, his voice break- 
ing in a sob. “ Bring Mamie an' come quick." 

“ Where to?" 

“To Chestnut's drug-store. I can't tell you, 
Mary, but fer God's sake, come quick ! " 


328 


CHAPTER XXVIII 


HUMMEL KEEPS HIS WORD 

Allan, as he turned into the street before the 
house, was caught by a fierce gust of wind, whirled 
against a tree at the edge of the pavement, and 
would have fallen, had not a strong arm grasped 
him about the waist. 

“ Sure, an’ ’tis a reg’lar hurricane,” shouted a 
well-known voice, and Allan found himself gazing 
into the cheerful face of Reddy Magraw. 

“ Why, Reddy,” he cried, “ what are you doing 
here ? ” 

“ I was sent after you,” Reddy explained, “ an’ 
it was well I was — ye niver could have got up 
there by yerself.” 

“ Nonsense ! ” Allan protested. “ Pm nearly as 
strong as I ever was. That gust caught me unpre- 
pared, that’s all. Come on.” He didn’t ask who 
it was had sent Reddy, but supposed of course it 
was Stanley. 

“ I’ll jest hold on to yer arm, anyways,” said 
Reddy. “ Is this the well one? ” 

“Yes; hold on to it, if you want to; maybe 
329 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


it’ll keep you from being blown away ; ” but to 
himself Allan was forced to confess more than 
once that Reddy’s arm was a welcome support. 
For he was weaker than he had thought — weaker 
than he was willing to acknowledge, even to him- 
self. 

As for Reddy, he judged it best to say noth- 
ing as to how he had come to be appointed Allan’s 
body-guard. He had been routed out of bed by 
Mrs. Magraw at the first explosion. Across the 
yards from their front window they could see the 
flames spreading, and Reddy jumped into his clothes 
in a hurry. 

“ Now listen to me,” his wife had said, as this 
process was in progress, “ there’s jist one thing fer 
ye t’ do this night, Reddy Magraw, an’ that is t’ 
kape yerself glued t’ Allan West an’ t’ see the boy 
don’t come t’ no harm. They’ll be gittin’ him out 
o’ bed the first thing, an’ him scarce able t’ stand! 
Reddy Magraw, if any harm comes t’ him this 
night, I’ll niver fegive ye ! ” 

“ Don’t ye fear, darlint,” Reddy assured her. 
“ I’ll stick t’ him like beeswax,” and, giving her a 
quick hug, he ran from the house and down the 
path to the gate. 

Mrs. Magraw opened her lips to call to him; 
but closed them again by a mighty effort, and stood 
watching his dim figure until it vanished in the 
darkness. Then, drawing a chair close to the front 
window, she sat down and watched the flames grow 
330 


HUMMEL KEEPS HIS WORD 

and spread. Her face was very pale, and her lips 
moved mechanically as she "told over and over again 
the beads of her rosary. 

“ There’s the very divil t’ pay,” Reddy went on, 
as he and Allan hurried forward. “ I didn’t stop 
t’ see much of it, but I saw enough.” 

As a matter of fact, he hadn’t stopped at all, but 
had made a bee-line for Allan’s gate, fearing that 
he would miss him. 

“ You kin see the fire now,” he added, a moment 
later, and Allan, looking up, saw ahead of him a 
red glow against the sky, which spread and bright- 
ened, even as he watched it. 

All about them were people hastening in the same 
direction, and as they neared the yards, they could 
hear the excited shouts of the crowd already as- 
sembled, the clanging of the fire-engines, and finally, 
just as they arrived, the swish and hiss of water 
as it was turned on the flames. 

But Allan paused for only a glance at the fire, 
serious as it appeared to be. Mere property loss, 
however heavy, was a little thing in comparison 
with the possible loss of life which the wrecking 
of the freight-house involved, and he pushed his 
way forward through the crowd, anxious to learn 
the worst at once. The town’s limited police force 
was already on the scene, but the crowd was entirely 
beyond its control, and the most it could accomplish 
was to keep clear a space on the freight platform 
331 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


where two physicians were already busily at work, 
by the light of an engine headlight. 

Toward these, Allan made his way with a curi- 
ous sinking of the heart. The policemen recog- 
nized him and passed him through, and at that 
moment, one of the doctors rose with a little ges- 
ture of despair. 

“ We can’t do anything for him,” he said. “ The 
poor devil’s about out of his misery.” 

Allan, staring down at the blackened shape upon 
the platform, scarcely recognized in it a human 
being. 

“ Who is it?” he asked. 

“ I don’t know him,” said the doctor, looking 
up and recognizing the chief dispatcher. “ Maybe 
you do,” and he knelt down again and turned the 
distorted and blackened countenance so that the 
light shone full upon it. 

At the first sickened glance, Allan decided that 
he had never seen the man, then a' certain familiar- 
ity struck through to his consciousness. 

“ Why, it’s Rafe Bassett ! ” he cried. 

“ Rafe Bassett ! ” echoed a voice, and Allan 
turned to find that Stanley had broken a way 
through the crowd. “ Well, that’s justice for 
you ! ” 

“Justice?” echoed Allan. 

“ It was him did all that,” said Stanley, with a 
wave of the hand toward the burning cars, “ Set 
fire to them an’ got burned up hisself ! ” 

332 


HUMMEL KEEPS HIS WORD 


The crowd pressing upon the policemen heard 
the words and a low angry 'murmur ran through it, 
for with that blackened shape before them, the de- 
tective’s words sounded particularly heartless. 

“ Men,” cried Stanley, facing them, “ this ain’t 
no guesswork. Rafe Bassett was kicked out of the 
brotherhood t’ -night, an’ decided t’ git even this 
way. He set that car of oil on fire — but he was 
inside the car — an’ before he could git the door 
open, this is what happened to him. I pity the poor 
devil as much as any of you — an’ yet I say ’twas 
justice.” 

“ He’s right,” nodded a man at the front of the 
crowd. “ He’s right. Let’s have no trouble here, 
men.” 

Allan looked down again at the dim and shape- 
less mass. 

“ Is there an ambulance ? ” he asked. 

“ Yes,” answered one of the doctors. “ Two 
of them.” 

“ Take him away, then; and see that he is cared 
for. After all, he’s dead, Stanley.” 

“ An’ a blamed good thing, too,” muttered Stan- 
ley, whose stock of sentiment was very small; 
but he took care that the crowd did not hear the 
words. After all, there was no use in provoking 
trouble. 

“ And how about the others ? ” asked Allan. 

“ What others ? ” 

“ The men in the freight-house.” 

333 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


“ Oh,” answered Stanley, with a grin, “ they was 
more scared than hurt.” 

Allan drew a quick breath of relief. 

“But didn’t the bomb wreck the place?” he 
asked. 

“ Oh, it wrecked it all right ; at least this end 
of it; but by good luck, it blew the end wall out, 
instead of in, and the roof didn’t fall until every- 
body had scrambled out. I thought there’d been 
at least a dozen killed by the way they hollered 
after the bomb went off, but nobody was hurt be- 
yond some cuts and bruises.” 

“ Well, that was good luck ! ” said Allan. “ That 
takes the biggest kind of a load off my heart.” 

“Yes; and the best luck of all,” added Stanley 
dryly, “ is that I caught the man who did it.” 

“ The man who did it ? ” Allan stopped short 
in amazement to look at his companion. “ Do you 
mean it, Stanley ? ” 

“Mean it? I should say I did. It was the 
merest luck — I fell right on to him as he was 
gettin’ away, and when I started to take him back 
to the freight-house he was scared to death — but 
he don’t deny it, fer that matter.” 

“ Who was it ? ” asked Allan. “ One of the 
strikers ? ” 

“ No,” said Stanley, grinning again. “ One of 
the strike-breakers.” 

Again Allan stopped to gaze in amazement at 
his companion. 


334 


HUMMEL KEEPS HIS WORD 


“ Hummel,” explained Stanley, his face fairly 
glowing with satisfaction. “ Oh, this has been a 
great night.” 

“ Where is he now ? ” 

“ I’ve got him under guard in the freight office 
• — I’ll send him up to the county jail pretty soon 
— but he said he wanted to see you first.” 

“ To see me? What for? ” 

“ I don’t know. Maybe he wants to confess 
and tell who his pals were. Of course we know 
Bassett was. I’ve got a sort of idea that Bassett 
was at the head of the whole thing. There’s the 
freight-house. You kin see what damage the bomb 
did.” 

It was certainly a frightful looking place. The 
end wall of the building had been blown out bodily, 
and a great section of the platform had also been 
blown away. Evidently Hummel had placed the 
bomb just inside the wall. There was, at either end 
of the building, a small square ventilator near the 
ground, covered with a piece of perforated iron, 
as such openings usually are. Later investigation 
showed that Hummel had probably knocked out this 
plate, and as the ventilator was too small to permit 
the passage of his body, he had placed the bomb 
as far inside as he could reach, and had then at- 
tached and lighted the fuse. The position of the 
bomb, by a fortunate chance, was such that the 
greatest force of the explosion was directed out- 
wards, and while the end wall had fallen, it had 
335 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 

fallen outward and not inward, and the side walls 
had remained nearly intact. The roof had sagged 
badly, but had not fallen. The other end of the 
freight-house, at which were the offices, had not 
been injured at all. 

Allan stood for a moment contemplating this 
wreckage, and as he turned away, he felt a touch on 
his arm. He turned to find himself face to face 
with Simpson, the special delegate. 

“ Mr. West,” said Simpson, “ I hope I may have 
a few words with you.” 

“ Why, certainly,” said Allan. “ What is it?” 

“ In the first place, I want to assure you that no 
brotherhood man had anything to do with this,” 
and he waved his hand toward the wrecked freight- 
house and the blazing cars. 

“ We know who did both,” said Allan quietly. 
“ The man who set fire to the cars was a union 
man.” 

“ Who was it? ” asked Simpson quickly. 

“ Rafe Bassett.” 

Simpson’s face grew a shade paler, and his eyes 
lighted with a grim satisfaction, as he realized how 
this discovery vindicated the course he had taken 
with regard to the strike. 

“ Bassett was not a union man ; he was sus- 
pended from the lodge last night,” he said, quietly. 
“ He would never have been reinstated. I suspect 
him of having had something to do with that out- 
rage at Cincinnati, and I believe all this was done 
336 


HUMMEL KEEPS HIS WORD 


simply to revenge himself on the brotherhood and 
give it a black eye.” 

“ And you were going to carry on the strike for 
a man like that? ” 

“ No, Mr. West, we were not,” answered Simp- 
son earnestly. “ After Bassett was run out of the 
hall last night, a committee was appointed to wait 
upon you in the morning and declare the strike 
off.” 

Allan’s face brightened wonderfully. 

“ Without condition?” he asked. 

“ With only one condition — that the men be re- 
instated in their old positions — all except Bas- 
sett.” 

“ We have promised to give permanent positions 
to any of the new men who made good,” said 
Allan. “ We must keep that promise.” 

“We have no objection to that. Mighty few of 
them can hold a permanent job. Mr. West, I’m 
going to be candid with you. This strike was begun 
foolishly and without proper investigation. You 
know why — it was because of your exposure of 
Nixon. Now we are anxious to make such amends 
as we can, and we go further than we usually do. 
We agree, as I have said, to your giving permanent 
places to as many of the strike-breakers as you care 
to keep and as care to stay.” 

Allan held out his hand quickly. 

“ Then I understand the strike is ended ? ” 

" It will end at noon, if you say so.” 

337 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


“ I do say so.” 

“ Good ! ” cried Simpson, and grasped the hand 
held out to him. 

Not more than half a dozen men were within 
hearing, but the news of the great event passed like 
lightning from mouth to mouth, and the crowd was 
soon cheering like mad. 

“ Well,” said Stanley, “ I guess my job’s done. 
I’ll be mighty glad t’ git back t’ my bed ag’in. Will 
you see Hummel before I send him uptown? ” 

“Yes; only I’ve got two or three things to do 
first. Let’s have a look at the fire.” 

They started together toward the lower yards, 
and Stanley, after glancing back once or twice, 
leaned over and spoke in a carefully repressed un- 
dertone. 

“ There’s a tough-lookin’ feller been follerin’ you 
around all night,” he said. “ He’s right behind us 
now. Glance around kind of careless-like an’ see if 
you know him.” 

Allan glanced apprehensively over his shoulder, 
and then laughed outright as he recognized his 
faithful body-guard. 

“ Why, that’s Reddy Magraw,” he said. “ He 
thinks I’m going to keel over any minute, and he’s 
ready to catch me when I do.” 

“ Oh,” said Stanley, in a chagrined tone ; “ I 
didn’t recognize him in the dark.” 

“ Didn’t you send him after me ? ” 

“ Send him? Why, no. Did he say I did? ” 

338 


HUMMEL KEEPS HIS WORD 


“No, I don’t know tfyat he said exactly that. 
But if you didn’t, who did? I wonder — ” 

But they had reached the place where the cars 
were blazing, and the matter was driven from Al- 
lan’s mind for the time being. It was soon evident 
that all danger of the fire spreading further was 
over. The cars in the neighbourhood had been 
jerked away to a place of safety, and three or four 
lines of hose were playing upon the fire, with the 
result that it was soon under control. Six cars and 
their contents had been destroyed and twice as many 
more damaged to some extent, but this loss seemed 
trifling to Allan beside what might have been. 

“ Now I’ve got a report to make, and then I’m 
done,” he said to Stanley. “ I’ll come over to the 
freight office just as soon as I can.” 

“ All right, sir,” said Stanley, and hurried away 
to provide fresh quarters for the strike-breakers. 
He found them fraternizing with the brotherhood 
men, and Simpson himself proposed a solution of 
the problem of lodging them. 

“ Why not bring them up to the lodge room ? ” 
he said. “ It’s plenty big enough, and each man can 
bring his cot with him. We’ll see that breakfast 
is ready for them in the morning and after that, 
I guess they can get board around town somewhere. 
I hope you’ll approve,” he added to Stanley. “We 
want to show we’re in earnest about this thing and 
that we bear no grudge against anyone.” 

“ All right,” agreed Stanley; “ I don’t see no ob- 
339 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


jections ; though of course, I see your little game,” 
he added, in an undertone. “ These fellers’ll be 
union men inside of a week.” 

Simpson made no reply, but smiled a diplomatic 
smile; and Stanley’s prediction came true; for all 
of the strangers who secured permanent positions, 
joined the brotherhood in a very short time. It 
may be added, in passing, however, that not above 
eight or ten remained at Wadsworth. Most of 
them had the wanderlust in their blood ; they could 
be contented in one place only for a very short time, 
and then must be moving on; while the rest were 
victims of an even worse disease, which converted 
them from men into brutes, and rendered them unfit 
to hold any position. 

Allan, hurrying across the yards in the direction 
of his office, was conscious of quick steps behind 
him, and turned to find that Jack Welsh had joined 
Reddy Magraw. 

“ So here you are ! ” cried Jack. “ Well, I cer- 
tainly am glad to see you. And you’re not hurted ? ” 

“ Hurt ? ” repeated Allan. “ Why, no, of course 
not; why should I be? ” 

“And you’re about ready to go home? The 
women are jest naterally worrited to death about 
you.” 

“ Oh, I’m all right,” Allan assured him, though 
he was conscious that both head and shoulder were 
aching numbly. “ Reddy’s been dogging me like 
340 


HUMMEL KEEPS HIS WORD 


a shadow. I’ll be ready to go back before long. 
You’ve heard the news ? ” 

“No. What? ” 

“ The strike’s off. I’m just going to wire the 
news to Mr. Schofield. Then I’ll be ready to go 
home. I must be up early in the morning.” 

“ We’ll wait fer you,” said Jack, and he and 
Reddy sat down on the bottom step of the steep 
flight which led to the dispatchers’ office, while 
Allan hurried up the stairs. 

It took but a moment to get Mr. Schofield on the 
line. He had been sent the first news of the dis- 
aster, and was anxious to know how serious it was. 
Allan’s first words reassured him. 

“ Nobody hurt,” Allan flashed, “ and not over 
six cars destroyed, though some damage to others. 
Fire about out. Freight-house badly wrecked. 
Bassett set fire to cars and was burned to death. 
We also have fellow who set off bomb. Just saw 
Simpson, and arranged to have strike called off at 
noon to-day. No conditions. Admits that strike 
was mistake and says Bassett was fired from 
brotherhood last night. Willing to do most any- 
thing to square himself. And I guess that’s all 
till I see you.” 

There was an instant’s pause before Mr. Scho- 
field answered. 

“ West,” he began, “ this is the greatest night’s 
work you ever did. Are you able to be up ? ” 

“ I’m aching some,” Allan answered, “ but I’m 
341 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 

going home to bed now. Everything is well in 
hand. I guess there’s no further danger of trouble.” 

“ Wait a minute,” came the answer. 

Allan waited until his instrument began again to 
call him. 

“ All right,” he said. 

“ This is Round,” chattered the instrument. 
“ Schofield has just been telling me. I want to con- 
gratulate you — and order you to take at least a 
month’s vacation.” 

“ I guess I’ll wait till my honeymoon,” answered 
Allan, and laughed to himself at the thpught. 

“ Are you engaged ? ” 

“ Yes. Tell Mr. Schofield I’ve taken his advice.” 

“ When is it to be? ” 

“ Don’t know yet.” 

“ Well, mind you ask me.” 

“ I will.” 

“ And here’s my best wishes, my boy. Now go 
home and go to bed. I’ll be at Wadsworth in a day 
or two, and will tell you then what I think about 
your work.” 

“All right; thank you. Good-bye.” 

Allan closed his key with a click, and s he did 
so, he was conscious of a throng around his desk. 
He looked up to see all the employees on duty and 
some who weren’t on duty, but who had been got 
out of bed by the disturbance, crowding around 
him. 

“Shake!” they said. “Of course we heard 
342 


HUMMEL KEEPS HIS WORD 

that,” and Allan gripped one hand after another, 
his eyes shining. 

“ Thank you, b'oys,” was all he could say. 
“ Thank you.” 

He rejoined Jack and Reddy, at last, at the foot 
of the stairs. 

“ Just one more errand and then I’m ready to 
go home,” he said. 

“ Seems to me they allers is One more,” rejoined 
Jack. “ What is it now? ” 

“ The fellow who blew up the freight-house wants 
to see me.” 

“The fellow who blew up the freight-house? 
Have you got him? ” 

“ Yes; Stanley nabbed him and has got him Over 
there in the freight office. I guess he’s kept it quiet 
for fear the fellow’d be mobbed.” 

“ An’ that’s more sense than Stanley usually 
shows,” said Reddy. “ Who is the varmint? ” 

“ His name’s Hummel — you’ll remember him, 
Jack.” 

“ Did I iver see him? ” 

“ He’srthe fellow who ran after me across the 
yards that night — ” 

“ An’ tried t’ knife ye,” added Jack, his face 
flushing darkly. “ Bad cess to him. What’s he 
want with ye now ? ” 

“ Stanley thinks maybe he wants to confess.” 

343 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


“ More likely he wants to take a shot at you. 
Don’t you go, Allan.” 

“ Oh, nonsense, Jack,” laughed Allan. “ He’s 
under arrest. He can’t harm me, even if he wants 
to. There he is now,” he added, as a little proces- 
sion emerged from the freight office. 

Stanley had seen Allan coming across the tracks, 
and anxious to have the interview over and get 
his prisoner away before any hint of his identity 
should get about, had brought him out, surrounded 
by three or four officers. The crowd had melted 
away considerably, and what there was left of it 
was either watching the last embers of the fire, or 
inspecting the ruined freight-house. So the little 
group came out into the yards unnoticed, and 
stopped in the shadow of the building until Allan 
and his two friends came up. 

Allan, stopping close to Hummel, saw that he 
was handcuffed, and therefore incapable of doing 
any one harm. He seemed bent and shrunken and 
only half-conscious, as though on the verge of col- 
lapse. 

“ Well, Hummel,” he said, “ you wanted to see 
me?” 

Hummel lifted his eyes and stared at him coldly, 
for an instant, as though not recognizing him ; then 
his eyes brightened with rage. 

“ Yes,” he said, thickly, “ I wanted t’ see you. 
I hope you’re satisfied with this night’s work.” 

“ Why, yes,” said Allan with a smile. “ Don’t 
344 


HUMMEL KEEPS HIS WORD 


you think I have reason to be? Have you anything 
to tell me?” 

“ Yes,” said Hummel, his face growing more 
livid still, as he glared at the other. “ It’s this — 
I’ll be in hell to-night an’ so will you ! ” 

And he suddenly raised his handcuffed hands. 

Allan was dimly conscious of a heavy form hurl- 
ing itself past him, of a close grapple, of an in- 
stant’s pause broken only by oaths and hoarse shout- 
ing; he seemed to see Reddy Magraw grappling 
with the anarchist; then the world was blotted out 
in a white flash of flame. 


345 


CHAPTER XXIX 

THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 

Mary Welsh and Mamie, hurrying with anxious 
hearts and pallid cheeks, not daring to think of what 
awaited them, toward Chestnut’s drugstore, in an- 
swer to Jack’s summons, were met outside the little 
triangular frame building from which the drugstore 
stared out upon the tracks, by Jack himself, his face 
gray and lined with suffering and self-accusation. 

“ Wait a minute,” he said, hoarsely, and Mary, 
reading the suffering in his eyes, put her hand 
quickly upon his arm. 

“ How is he? ” 

“ I don’t know yet. The doctor’s just finishin’ 
with him.” 

And then his self-control gave way, and a great 
sob shook him. 

“ A nice guardeen I am, ain’t I ? ” he asked, bit- 
terly. “ Oh, I could go an’ throw myself under the 
wheels of that engine there ! ” 

“Don’t, Jack!” protested Mary, quickly. 
“ Don’t take it so. Whatever happened wasn’t your 
fault.” 


346 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 

* 

“ Yes, it was ! I stood by like a dumb beast an’ 
let Hummel — Kin ye ever forgive me, Mamie ? 
Oh, but I’m shamed t’ look ye in the eyes ! ” 

“Forgive you, dad?” cried the girl, her heart 
smitten as she looked at him. “ Why, dad, there’s 
nothing to forgive. I know you did your best.” 

“ Not like Reddy Magraw,” said Jack, the tears 
streaming down his face. “ Not like Reddy Ma- 
graw. Do you know what he did — he saw that 
varmint fumblin’ at his pocket, an’ he must have 
guessed what was cornin’ — I was lookin’, too, but 
I never thought of nothin’ like that — an’ Reddy 
jumped fer him an’ grabbed him — an’ jest then 
the bomb went off — ” 

“ He’s dead, ain’t he, Jack? ” asked Mary. 

“ Yes,” said Jack, with a hoarse sob, “ an’ so’s 
Reddy Magraw — an’ if our boy lives, it’ll be be- 
cause of Reddy, not because o’ me. That’s what it 
makes me sick t’ think of ! ” 

“ Reddy dead ! ” gasped Mary, the tears starting 
to her eyes. “ Does — ” 

“ No,” said Jack. “ You’ll have t’ tell her. I 
couldn’t to save my soul.” 

“ I’ll tell her,” said Mary, quietly. “ She’ll be 
proud when she knows.” 

And then the door opened and they saw the doctor 
standing on the threshold. 

“ Come in,” he said softly. “ You can see him 
now; and it’s all right.” 

“ You mean he ain’t dead? ” asked Jack. 

347 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 

“ No, nor going to die. Is this Mamie?” he 
added, turning to the young woman. 

“ Yes,” she answered. 

“ He’s been asking for you. He mustn t be ex- 
cited,” he added, looking at the others. “ Is it nec- 
essary that you see him ? ” 

Mary gulped back the indignant words which rose 
to her lips. Necessary that she see her boyd 

“ No,” she said, steadily. “ We’ll jest excite 
him. You go, Mamie. Jack’ll wait fer ye,” and 
she held Jack by the hand until Mamie had entered 
and the door had closed behind her. 

“ It’s her place, not mine,” she said. “ An’ now 
I’ll go over t’ the Magraws.” 

“ Mary,” said Jack, hoarsely, and put his arm 
around her, “ you’re the bravest little woman I iver 
knew. I’m proud of ye.” 

But Mary felt anything but brave as, in the gray 
light of the dawn, she slowly crossed the tracks and 
mounted the path to the door of the little house. 
For, after all, what could she say to lighten the 
force of the blow ? What could anyone say ? Sup- 
pose it was some one else coming to tell her of 
Jack? She caught her breath sharply — 

And then she was conscious that the door was 
open and when she looked up, she saw Mrs. Magraw 
standing there and gazing down at her, a strange 
light in her eyes. 

“ Come in,” she said, and led the way into the 
little parlour, from which, during the night, she 
348 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 

had watched the flames across the yards. “ I 
knowed ye’d come,” she added. “ I knowed ye’d 
want t’ be the one t’ tell me — an’ I thank ye, 
Mary Welsh.” 

“You — you know?” gasped Mary, staring at 
her. “ Somebody’s told you ? ” 

“ No, nobody’s told me; but I know. I knowed 
when I saw him goin’ away that he was niver cornin’ 
back.” 

“ An’ you let him go? ” 

“ Yes, I sent him.” 

“ Sent him? ” 

“ T’ guard the boy? Did he guard him? ” 

And Mary Welsh flung herself upon her knees 
before the other woman and buried her face in her 
lap. 

“ He did ! ” she said, thickly. “ With his life.” 

Mr. Schofield, relieved of the stress of duty at 
Cincinnati, arrived at Wadsworth On the early 
train next day, and at once took charge of the 
situation. There was much to do. The whole train 
service of the road had to be reorganized, the rav- 
elled ends gathered up again, the freight-house re- 
built, traffic provided for; and for four days and 
nights he thought of nothing else. Then, the first 
strain past, he put on his hat One afternoon, and 
started back over the yards to a little house which 
stood high on an embankment facing them. 

He climbed the steep path, and paused for a 
349 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


moment to look down over the yards before knock- 
ing at the door. His eyes gleamed with pride as he 
watched the busy engines, the assembled cars, the 
evidences of orderly and busy life. 

Then he turned and knocked. An Irish woman 
well past middle age, and with hair snowy white, 
opened the door. 

“ Mrs. Magraw ? ” asked the visitor. 

“ Yis, sir.” 

“ My name’s Schofield.” 

“ I know ye, sir,” said Mrs. Magraw, quietly. 
“ This ain’t the first toime ye’ve been to see me.” 

“ No — but that was a good many years ago. 
If you don’t mind, I’ll sit down here on the porch. 
I want to talk to you.” 

“ All right, sir,” said Mrs. Magraw, and tried to 
dust off the bench, but Mr. Schofield was too quick 
for her. 

“ I’ve heard how your husband died,” he began 
gently, “ and I want to say this: no man ever died 
a nobler death.” 

“ I’m proud of him, sir,” said Mrs. Magraw, her 
eyes filling with tears. “ I’m prouder of him than 
I kin say.” 

“ We’re all proud of him. I’ve been proud of 
him for many years. It isn’t the first time he’s 
proved the stuff he was made of.” 

Mrs. Magraw nodded. 

“ But there’s no use for me to tell you that,” 
went on the superintendent. “ You knew him better 
350 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


than I did. Now here’s what I’ve come to say. 
The road has pensioned you for life. You will re- 
ceive a check every month for thirty dollars.” 

“ Thirty dollars ! ” echoed Mrs. Magraw. 
“ Why, sir, — ” 

“ I know it isn’t very much — ” 

“Very much! It’s all the difference between 
starvin’ an’ livin’, sir.” 

“ I’m glad of that. How old is your oldest 
boy?” 

“ Thirteen, sir.” 

“ What do you want him to be? ” 

“ Well, sir, he seems to have a taste fer mechan- 

• n 

ICS. 

“All right; there’s a job waiting for him, and 
for all the other boys when they’re old enough. 
The road wants to make life just as easy for you 
as it can, Mrs. Magraw; and even at that, it feels 
that it has done mighty little — so little that I was 
almost ashamed to c'ome here to-day and tell you. 
It’s not in any sense intended as a recompense — 
don’t think it.” 

“ I understand, sir,” said Mrs. Magraw, and 
there was in her face a sweet dignity. “ An’ I’ve 
had my recompense — with the flowers an’ the men 
at the funeral — the shop-men, sir, an’ the brother- 
hood — stretchin’ clear out t’ the street yonder, an’ 
cryin’, sir, as if ’twas their own brother — ” 

She stopped, her eyes gleaming. 

“ He was the brother of every one of us,” he 
351 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


said ; and added, soberly, “ I wish I was as good 
a man ! ” 

Mrs. Magraw watched him as he crossed the 
yards; watched him till a corner of the round- 
house hid him from view; then she turned slowly 
back into the house, her face shining. 

“ Oh, Reddy,” she said hoarsely to herself ; “ it’s 
a proud woman I am this day; proud fer ye — 
proud fer ye — oh, an’ heart-broken, too.” 

The next afternoon, Mr. Schofield called up Jack 
Welsh’s residence. 

“ How’s Allan getting along?” he asked of the 
woman’s voice which answered the phone. 

“ He’s gittin’ along as well as could be expected.” 

“ Is he able to sit up ? ” 

“ Yes, sir; he sets up a little every day.” 

“ This is Schofield talking. I wonder if I could 
see him this afternoon ? ” 

“ Yes, sir; I guess so,” answered the voice, but 
without enthusiasm. 

“ Well, tell him I’ll be down in about an hour 
— and if he can’t see me yet awhile, let me know.” 

“ All right, sir.” 

“ It’s Mister Schofield wantin’ to see you,” Mary 
announced to Allan, three minutes later. “ Says 
he’ll be here in an hour. Hadn’t I better tell him 
you ain’t able? ” 

“ Oh, I guess I’m able,” said Allan, smiling up 
at her. 


352 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 

He was lying back in a great chair, with Mamie 
beside him. 

“ Well, it’s time he was askin’ after ye.” 

“ He’s been pretty busy, I suspect.” 

Mary snorted. 

“ A good excuse! An’ I know what he’s cornin’ 
fer.” 

“ What ? ” asked Allan, smiling broadly. 

“ He’ll be wantin’ to know when you’re cornin’ 
back to work.” 

“ And I’ll tell him Monday.” 

“ Monday, indeed,” cried Mary and Mamie both. 

“ Why, I’m all right again,” Allan protested. 
“ A little shaky and scary, but I’ll get over that.” 

“ Well, we’ll see about it,” said Mamie, in a 
tone which told that she was far from being con- 
vinced. 

Mrs. Welsh went about her household work, 
leaving the two together, and presently there came 
the expected knock at the door. 

But when she opened it, it was not Mr. Scho- 
field alone who stood there. With him was a man 
with blue eyes and light hair and flowing blonde 
moustache whom Mrs. Welsh had never seen be- 
fore. 

“ How do you do, Mrs, Welsh,” said Mr. Scho- 
field, shaking hands with her. “ This is Mr. 
Round,” he added, and Mr. Round also shook 
hands. “ Can we see the invalid ? ” 

“ Ye-yes, sir,” stammered Mary, more over- 
353 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


whelmed than she had ever been in her life. “ Right 
up these stairs, sir.” 

She led the way and ushered them into Allan’s 
room. 

He started and flushed when he saw who Mr. 
Schofield’s companion was. 

“ No,” said Mr. Schofield, smiling at Mrs. Welsh, 
“ I didn’t come this time to ask you when you’re 
coming back to work; but to say good-bye.” 

“ Good-bye? ” echoed Allan. “ You’re not going 
away? ” 

“ He’s got too big for us,” said Mr. Round. 
“ I’ve been afraid of it for a long time. Let me 
introduce you to the new general superintendent 
of the Rock Island.” 

“ What ! ” cried Allan, his face beaming. “ Oh, 
but I’m glad ! ” and he held out his hand eagerly. 
“ Sorry, too,” he added. “ You’ve been one of the 
best friends I ever had.” 

“ And always will be,” said Mr. Schofield heart- 
ily. “ We’re all proud of you, Allan. Let me see, 
how old are you? ” 

“ Twenty-seven.” 

“ Rather young for train master,” said Mr. 
Round, looking at him quizzically. 

“Train master?” Allan echoed, suddenly white. 

“ Though we’ll try you, anyway,” and Mr. 
Round smiled broadly. “ That is, if you accept.” 

“Why,” stammered Allan, “I can’t — I 
don’t — ” 


354 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 

“ Don’t, try. There’s no hurry, either. You 
know what I said to you about a vacation? ” 

“ Yes,” said Allan. 

“ And you said something about a honeymoon.” 

Mamie flushed crimson, and even Allan reddened 
a little. 

“ Is this the young lady ? ” asked Mr. Round, 
looking at Mamie approvingly. 

“ Yes,” said Allan. “ Mamie — Miss Welsh.” 

“ I congratulate you, my dear,” said Mr. Round, 
shaking her kindly by the hand. .“I’ve heard of 
that exploit of yours. The, road is your debtor 
more than I can say. I hate to think what would 
have happened if it hadn’t been for you.” 

“ I take the credit of this match,” added Mr. 
Schofield, laughing. “ I told Allan it was the only 
proper thing to do.” 

“ I’d already arrived at the same conclusion,” 
said Allan, “ and we’d just settled it when you 
called up.” 

“ Well,” said Mr. Round, with another glance at 
Mamie’s rosy face, “ I think you’re to be congrat- 
ulated too, Allan. You seem to have a knack of 
falling on your feet. When is it to take place? ” 

“ Next month,” answered Allan, boldly, without 
even glancing at Mamie. 

That young lady opened her lips and stared at 
him in astonishment, but closed them again without 
speaking. 

“ Where are you going for the honeymoon ? ” 
355 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


“ Oh, we haven’t decided. We haven’t much 
money to spend on a honeymoon, you know.” 

“ Have you thought of California?” 

“ Of California? No, nor of the moon,” an- 
swered Allan, with a laugh. “ Palm Beach, maybe, 
if we can get transportation.” 

“ Oh, I guess you can,” said Mr. Round, with 
a little laugh. “ But I’m sorry you hadn’t thought 
of California. You see, when you spoke of the 
honeymoon, I thought a little trip through the west 
would be just the thing, so I pulled a few wires, 
and here,” he put his hand in his pocket and brought 
out a thick envelope, “ is the result. What shall 
I do with it ? ” 

“ What is it ? ” asked Allan and Mamie in the 
same breath. 

“ An order from the President to place my pri- 
vate car at your disposal for a month — transporta- 
tion over the Southern Pacific going and the North- 
ern Pacific returning — what do you say, chil- 
dren?” 

What could they say! 

With a chuckle of sheer enjoyment, Mr. Round 
tossed the envelope into Allan’s lap. 

“ Mind you ask me to the wedding,” he said, and 
caught up his hat. “ Come on, Schofield. We’re 
in the way.” 

“ How do you know I’m going to marry you 
next month ? ” demanded Mamie. 


356 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 

“ I know you are — you can’t refuse — it might 
send me into a decline.” 

“ Decline, indeed,” sniffed Mamie. 

“ I knew you wouldn’t ! ” laughed Allan. 

Mamie laughed too, and kissed him. 

Don’t you feel like a fairy god-child?” she 
asked. “ I do.” 

“ ' hat day is it? ” he asked, suddenly. 

“ The f fteenth.” 

“ Then -morrow’s Betty Heywood’s wedding 
— ; : can he there — I haven’t even sent a gift. 

Wha t a- i 1 1 sh r mk of me ? ’ ’ 

“ W ell her,” suggested Mamie, and 

Allan di her more, perhaps, than Mamie 

intended hv ud the answer came promptly 

two days later. 

“ Dear Allan, it ran 4 hour letter was the dear- 
est wedding gift O’ w that you had found 

the right girl and U happy was just the 

one thing needed to g oing touch to my 

own happiness. So you . was right! I’ve 

never doubted it for an l .t, but just the same 
I’m glad it’s proved. I’m scribbling this at the last 
moment, for your letter just came; there’s the wed- 
ding march — I must go. I’m very, very happy, 
Allan, and I suppose that this is the last time I shall 
ever sign myself Betty Heywood.” 

Allan looked up from the letter, his eyes shining. 

“ She’s a dear girl,” he said. 

357 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


“ Yes,” agreed Mamie, a little doubtfully. 

“ But not the dearest,” added Allan smiling. 
“ Come here. Look what a beautiful sunset. Look 
at those crimson clouds along the horizon.”' 

“Who is the dearest?” asked Mamie, refusing 
to be led aside from the question Binder discussion. 

“ Can’t you. guess ? ” 

“ I’m not good at guessing.” 

“ It’s the same one I jerked from in front of an 
engine years and years ago; the same one I used 
to do sums for; the same one who saved my life 
just the other day. Now can you guess? ” 

“ Yes,” said Mamie, dimpling and snuggling 
close to him; “ yes, I think I can! ” 

And so we leave them. 

What does the future hold? For one thing, be 
sure that it holds happiness. Be sure, too, that the 
young train master will not always be merely that. 
He can afford to wait — to grow and broaden, to 
learn his business thoroughly; but the time will 
come when he will step up and up. Yet, however 
high he climbs, those first years, whose history we 
know, will be a sweet and ever-present memory, as 
years of trial always are when one has emerged 
from them triumphant. 

THE END. 


358 


THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER 


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Burton E. Stevenson 

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